


Rainbow's Freedom (RobinSong Arc)

by BradyGirl_12



Series: Rainbow's Freedom [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Green Arrow, Green Lantern (Comic), Superman (Comics), Superman/Batman (Comics), Wonder Woman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, Canon Het Relationship, Drama, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Het, Het and Slash, M/M, Male Slash, Master/Slave, Nightmares, Series, Sexual Slavery, Slash, Slave Trade, Slavery, Violence, World's Finest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 57,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. As Bruce and Clark try and adjust to being lovers as well as Master and slave, on a warm spring night a new member of the Wayne Household is added: a little boy whom Bruce sadly identifies with. Dick Grayson further pushes Bruce along the path of Abolitionism as the child brings further Light into the Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: August 10, 2007-February 2, 2008  
> Original Dates Of LJ Posting: March 24, 2008-November 28, 2008  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 39,055.  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> There are a total of nine arcs in this series.  
> The _magnificent_ story cover is by the wonderfully-talented [Ctbn60](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com). Thanks so much, luv! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the circle of sparkly glitter of the Christmas tree, Bruce enjoys the holiday for the first time in years.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/bradygirl_12/pic/0001ye55)

_They say  
That Christmas magic  
Isn’t real._

_But then,  
They were never  
Lucky enough  
To feel._

  


**Alaina Z. Scott  
"Snowflakes: A Story  
Of Christmas Magic"  
2016 C.E.**

Snow fell softly outside the windows of the Manor, blanketing the grounds with Christmas magic.

Bruce Wayne, Lord of the Manor, Scion of the Wayne Family, Prince of Gotham, surveyed his Household as the traditional opening of presents continued in the living room by the huge tree. ‘Christmas magic’ was a rather sentimental description, Bruce smiling at himself, but he was feeling far more joyful than he had in years. 

For far too long this holiday had brought pain. Now it could bring happiness again. The thread of pain when he thought of his parents and past Christmas mornings was still there, but not as sharp as he looked at Clark’s delighted face. 

All of them were in robes and pajamas, cups of coffee in easy reach as breakfast was deferred until after the presents. It was more of a tradition to delay the meal if there were children in the house, but Bruce was feeling like a child again for the first time in years.

Clark sat cross-legged at Bruce’s feet, happy to retrieve presents for him and Alfred, who sat in an overstuffed chair by the couch. Bruce had been generous with his gifts but had also restrained himself. Despite paying his two slaves a weekly wage, their resources couldn’t begin to match his, and technically, all of their money belonged to him, anyway.

He didn’t want to embarrass either man with too much largesse, but he loved to lavish gifts on those close to him. Except for Alfred, he had had no one close enough to him to play Lord Bountiful for a very long time. 

So now both his slaves had a tidy pile of gifts next to them, Clark’s eyes sparkling a reward for Bruce. Bruce looked down at the handsome watch in a black velvet box. The watch was not gold, silver, or platinum, but it was gold-plated with a simple face that was extremely tasteful in its simplicity. Clark had chosen it, escorted by Brendan into town for a Christmas shopping trip.

For that reason alone, Bruce treasured it.

There were a handful of other presents from both slaves, and Bruce was genuinely pleased at all of them. They showed thoughtfulness and care, and Bruce was touched that men he literally owned cared for him so much. 

“Now, gentlemen, if you will clean up this debris…” Alfred waved toward the shiny pile of wrapping “…I will see to breakfast.”

Alfred rose from his chair, gathering his presents and marching out of the room.

Bruce and Clark exchanged amused glances, Bruce propping up a trash bag while he and Clark stuffed it with wrapping paper.

“Than you, Master.”

Clark’s voice was so soft that Bruce almost missed it. “For what, Clark?”

“For gifts such as my new book, my very own book! and all the other wonderful things you’ve given me.” Clark looked shyly at Bruce, a smile on his lips.

Deep affection bloomed in Bruce’s chest. “You’ve given me so much, Clark. More than I can ever repay.”

Clark blushed pink. This humble mien endeared him to Bruce even more. He reached out and cupped Clark’s cheek, sapphire eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses.

Clark reached up and covered Bruce’s hand with his own. “I love you,” he said softly.

Bruce never got enough of hearing those words. He drew Clark to him and kissed him tenderly.

& & & & & &

“You’ve outdone yourself, Alfred.”

Pride shone in Alfred’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Bruce prepared to carve the turkey. He did so expertly, utilizing the ancient walnut-handled carving knife used only twice a year: on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

The rest of the table was laid out with whipped potatoes and chives, cranberry sauce, stuffing with celery and onions, sweet potatoes, homemade bread, and salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, walnuts, and green peppers.

The silverware gleamed gold, the bone-china plates decorated with a thin gold line around the center with the Wayne family crest etched in gold in that center.

The tablecloth was a bright yellow lined in gold. The antique lace cloth was not used for meals due to the fear of spills, but that cloth and all the dinnerware was centuries old, carefully preserved by a succession of Wayne family butlers.

Bruce was very proud of his heritage. He sliced into the turkey. His loyalty to that heritage had caused Clark and him pain, but he was determined to balance his love for Clark with his love for the family name and what it represented.

Bruce handed a plate to Alfred, carved again, and held out a plate to Clark, then finally sat down after carving for himself. Other bowls and plates were passed around, and conversation was light-hearted.

Bruce felt very happy as the snow continued to fall outside the windows.


	2. Snowbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark ring in the New Year in their own special way.

_And the Starchild played  
In the season’s snow,  
His Heart’s Keeper  
Now to know,_

_That a Starchild’s love  
Is rainbow-bright,  
That against the Darkness  
Shines the Light._

_And the one who wins  
The Heart of Light  
Will never again  
Be lost  
In the endless  
Night._

  


**Marion Zimmer Grayson  
"Tales of the Starchild"   
2106 C.E.**

Snow fell softly, blanketing every feature of the estate. Two figures pushed through the snow hand-in-hand, bright shapes in a world of white, enjoying muffled silence.

Clark stuck his tongue out to catch snowflakes. Bruce laughed and squeezed his hand, Clark looking at him with joy in his eyes.

“Taste good?”

Laughter. “Delicious. You should try one.”

Bruce thrust his tongue out, the flakes melting on it with cold sweetness.

“You’re right, they _are_ delicious.”

Clark smiled happily, squeezing Bruce’s hand.

They forged through the snow in silence, then Clark, asked, “Master?”

“Mmm?”

“Am I under a House Veil?”

The question was almost timid. Bruce looked at him. “Yes.” At Clark’s distressed expression Bruce assured him, “Not because of anything you did. Actually, I’m the one I don’t trust.”

“How so?”

“Well, I have to work on my glowing.”

“Glowing?”

“Yes, every time I look at you, I glow like a lovesick bride.”

Clark laughed. “I understand.”

Bruce touched his cheek. “We both have to be careful in public. It’ll be easier for you because of your dark glasses hiding the love in your eyes and people not caring if a slave falls for his Master, but for me…”

“I know.” Clark squeezed his hand again.

Society was contemptuous of a Master who fell in love with his slave. Ridicule and loss of respect was his lot, as well as less ability to protect the slaves in his care.

_I’ll protect Clark and Alfred with everything I have._

It was a vow he had no intention of breaking.

“What about tonight’s party?”

“Well, New Year’s Eve or not, I’m sending my regrets. A land car can’t get into town, and a hovercar is out. They’ll probably be canceling it, anyway.”

“I heard they’ll be showing fireworks from all over Earth.”

“Yes, we’ll watch that tonight. There’ll be muted celebrations in Gotham because of the storm, but maybe Metropolis will be able to live it up.”

Bruce would have never guessed that the old year would have brought such a change to his life.

_Maybe I should send Silas Bracken a little gift._

The slave dealer’s invitation to the private auction last fall had brought Clark into his life, and for that he would be forever grateful.

Mischief sparkled in Bruce’s eyes. He slipped out of Clark’s grasp and scooped up some snow, packing it into a ball.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Clark quickly fashioned his own snowball and the battle was joined.

Both men laughed as they were pelted, feinting and taunting, Clark yelping as he tripped and fell on his back, Bruce falling on top.

Cheeks flushed pink from the cold, sapphire-blue eyes sparkling, Clark looked achingly beautiful. Bruce kissed him, the taste of snowflakes on his tongue.

& & & & & &

Alfred paused as he dusted the foyer. He watched the snowball fight, extremely pleased. Clark was excellent for Master Bruce.

He went to the kitchen, checking to see if they had hot chocolate and miniature marshmallows on hand.

& & & & & &

“Ready to go in?”

Clark considered. “What, you don’t want to make more snow angels?”

Bruce laughed as he nuzzled Clark’s neck. “I already have my Angel.” 

Bruce helped Clark up, Clark noticing a cardinal blood-red against the snow. The bird stood out, a beautiful creature with grace and style. The stark contrast somehow seemed to work. He led Clark back to the Manor.

Inside the kitchen was the heavenly smell of baking bread. Alfred set out plates on the table.

“Hot chocolate with cookies, sir?”

“Excellent, Alfred.”

After the snowy clothes and boots were placed in the mudroom, the happy lovers sat at the table with Alfred, devouring chocolate chip cookies warm from the oven.

“I’ve planned a light repast for tonight, sir: roast chicken, a pasta salad, some sesame seed crackers and cheese.”

“Sounds good, Alfred.”

“A pity that the sumptuous banquet you would have enjoyed tonight is cancelled.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Alfred. The company is better here.”

Alfred and Clark smiled.

Bruce’s cellphone rang. Flipping it open, he said, "Hello?” delight lighting up his face. “Hello, Ollie! Yes, Happy New Year! How’s Dinah? Wonderful.” Bruce picked out a cookie and laid it on his plate. “So how’s the weather in Star City? Mmm, hmm. So you’ve got snow there? We’ve got a blizzard here. Yes, I’m snowbound here at the Manor.” Bruce laughed. “Yes, not a hardship! Thanks for your call, Ollie. It was a great year, and I’m hoping for another one. I’ll see you next week, that is, if I can dig out of here. Again, Happy New Year!”

Bruce flipped the phone shut. “Ollie and Dinah send their well wishes.”

Clark felt warmth at the thoughtfulness of the Master and Mistress of Queens’ Castle.

& & & & & &

The evening was quiet, the trio enjoying the supper that Alfred had prepared. They watched celebrations from around the world on television, and by ten o’clock Alfred said goodnight.

“Believe me, sir, I’ve seen many New Years. I’m just as happy at my age to get a good night’s sleep.” Bruce and Clark grinned. “Good night and Happy New Year, Master Bruce, Clark.”

“Good night, Alfred, and Happy New Year,” Bruce said.

“Happy New Year, Alfred.” Clark cleaned up the remains of supper, Bruce helping, and then they returned to the living room.

The tree glittered in the glow of the fire, Bruce directing Clark to sit next to him on the couch, slipping his arm around his companion’s shoulders.

Bruce knew this idyll would end, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. He refused to worry about what the future might bring, determined to revel in the present.

He was going to play the game of Master who was merely fond of his pleasure slave in public while secretly in love with that slave, who loved him.

What was another secret in his life?

The Batman would be on hiatus during these snowbound days. Crime would be down, as it was difficult to mug someone in a snow-filled street, if someone was out on the street at all.

Bruce felt drowsy, a combination of good food, the warm fire, and contentment. Clark’s head rested on his shoulder.

& & & & & &

Bruce came awake slowly, noticing the time on the mantel clock: 11:40. Clark was sound asleep on his shoulder.

Bruce’s free hand slipped down to rest lightly between his slave’s legs. He liked the gesture of ownership as he nuzzled Clark’s neck.

Clark awoke, his breath hitching as he registered the placement of Bruce’s hand.

Bruce felt slightly guilt for highlighting Clark’s slavery, but even in the romantic idyll Bruce had to occasionally assert his ownership. It would help Clark to remember it, not that Bruce believed he could ever forget.

Still, they had to do their best to navigate this unique relationship.

Clark’s eyes sparkled. He widened his legs slightly, Bruce smiling with predatory glee. Bruce leaned over and kissed Clark, who responded enthusiastically. In a very short time Clark was on his back with Bruce on top of him, the kisses deep and heartfelt. The television was on low volume, still chronicling the world’s celebrations.

Bruce sat up and held out his hand. “Rug.”

Clark took the proffered hand and they both sat in front of the fireplace, kissing and divesting each other of their clothes.

Clark’s rainbow manacles and collar sparkled wildly in the firelight, his eyes a startling blue behind his glasses. His stubborn curl dangled over his forehead.

Bruce caressed the golden skin, immensely proud that he owned such beauty, not just physically but in his heart. He kissed every inch of glorious flesh, Clark’s soft moans spurring him on.

Bruce gently pushed Clark to the rug, kissing the flat stomach and smooth inner thighs that would not be scarred by the branding iron now. Bruce blew lightly over his slave’s cock, Clark spreading his legs wider. Bruce grabbed his legs and pushed them back, exposing well-muscled buttocks. Bruce kissed the underside of a knee, then briefly left the rug to dig out a tube from his discarded pants pocket.

“Thought this might come in handy tonight,” Bruce smirked.

Clark laughed. “I never knew you were a Boy Scout.”

“You’d be surprised how prepared I can be.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” Clark’s eyes closed as his Master’s fingers prepared him. His body quivered with anticipation, then shuddered as Bruce slowly entered him. 

“Beautiful, my love, my Starchild…” Bruce murmured.

Bruce loved the tightness around him, the heat and pleasure enclosing his cock as waves of pleasure rolled over him. His lover’s ecstatic face increased that pleasure, his thrusts tearing cries of lusty joy from Clark, and the rhythm was pure ecstasy.

Fireworks boomed as Bruce thrust a final time, the mantel clock striking twelve, the ancient grandfather clock down the hall majestically announcing the arrival of yet another year.

Seconds later, Clark’s cock spurted over Bruce’s belly, and Bruce ground out, “Hear bells and whistles?”

“I hear…fireworks…” Clark gasped.

Bruce chuckled, sliding out of his lover and cleaning them up the best he could with a clean paper napkin he’d grabbed from the kitchen earlier.

As the world celebrated another New Year, Bruce snuggled against Clark, wrapping his arms around his companion and kissing his shoulder as the fire crackled in the fireplace, its light dancing off the ornaments on the tree.

_May the New Year bring us joy._


	3. Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has an accident while on patrol.

_Sometimes,  
We don’t even know  
What we need._

  


**Dr. Charles Renshaw  
"Psychology Of The Human Race"   
2161 C.E.**

The Batman slipped silently over icy rooftops, hard-packed snow sticking to the tarpaper and piled up against the buildings below.

Gotham had dug out of the snow a few days after New Year’s, and a light dusting since then obscured the dirty grime of city snow. The night was cold, very few people out past midnight.

Gratified that crime seemed to be taking a night off, Batman considered cutting his patrol short.

Clark had eagerly soaked up what Bruce had taught him about the Batcave computers. Clark was saving him dozens of man-hours in research, an invaluable asset in the Mission. Now when his slave had no direct orders to be waiting for him or wasn’t chained to the bed, he was more likely to be found tapping away on the computer keys if Batman came back before 1:00.

Batman smiled to himself. It was about time to chain Clark up again, keep him spread wide open and ready, think of him as helpless and vulnerable and aching for Bruce to take him…

Batman shook his head, his groin tingling. Really, he needed to focus!

A noise alerted him and he gazed down into an alley. He frowned as he saw a shabbily-dressed man skulking around the garbage cans. He appeared to be carrying something in an old rag…

A curse flew out of him as his boot slipped on a patch of ice, sending him over the edge of the roof. He grabbed for the edge, grunting as he jerked his shoulder. He fumbled at his belt for his grapple hook, his body swinging as pain lanced up his arm.

For one agonizing moment, Batman thought he was going to fall several stories, but he found the hook, shot it upward, and painfully pulled himself up and over the roof’s edge.

He sat in the snow, gasping for breath.

& & & & & &

Clark saved the file he had been working on all evening for the final time and pushed his chair back. The computer would stay on in case Batman needed to check something or wanted to write the evening’s report.

It was 12:30 A.M. and Clark was tired. He wanted to get some sleep before Bruce came to him in bed.

The roar of the Batmobile’s engine startled Clark. It was early for Batman to be back, but perhaps the weather had kept people indoors and made crime less inviting for one night.

The engine cut and the door opened, Batman coming out and limping to the computer.

“Br…Bruce?”

Clark’s astonished question stopped Bruce in his tracks, a slight grimace on his face.

“Are you all right?”

“Hurt my leg and shoulder.” The voice was the Bat-rasp, but Clark was not intimidated.

“Should I get Alfred?”

Bruce shook his head. “Just some bruising.”

“What happened?”

“I slipped and…fell off a roof.”

Clark’s face registered his fear and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“You need a partner,” he said softly.

He knew Bruce was looking at him despite his eyes hidden by the white lenses. Clark was not offering himself as a partner. He was all too aware that his illness prevented him from that role, but wasn’t there someone Bruce could trust to take on as a partner?

“The Bat works alone.”

The growl wasn’t angry, merely stating a fact. Bruce even allowed Clark to escort him to the small infirmary.

Clark bit his lip at the bruising on Bruce’s left thigh and shoulder. No doubt he would be very sore tomorrow, especially the wrenched shoulder. Clark applied some liniment, Bruce hissing through his teeth as his shoulder was rubbed.

“Please, come up to bed.”

“You’ll kiss it and make it better?” Bruce teased.

“I can,” Clark said with a smile, grasping Bruce’s hand.

Bruce brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed over Clark’s knuckles. “Go upstairs and be ready for me.” Bruce leaned in to whisper, “Bed, on your back,” then kissed his slave.

“Yes, Master,” Clark said, the smile still on his face, and he left Bruce, who headed for the showers.

As Clark climbed the stone steps, he worried over Bruce’s lack of a back-up. He didn’t have a superhuman power like the Flash of Central City, or the invulnerability the Kryptonians enjoyed under a yellow sun. He was merely a man, albeit an incredibly skilled and determined man.

Clark emerged through the clock and shut it behind him, heading upstairs.

His mind still pondering the dilemma of who could watch Batman’s back on the streets of Gotham, he pulled off his robe and pajamas. He was allowed to wear the pajamas because of the coldness in the Cave but otherwise they had to be discarded in order for him to be open and ready for his Master.

As he settled on the bed, he stretched out his arms and spread his legs wide, closing his eyes as he waited for his Master and lover with a smile playing around his lips.


	4. Harbinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harbingers of spring appear as Bruce decides that he and Clark should venture off the grounds. Also, Clark cooks dinner. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of using this little poem in the next chapter when Dick first appears, but even though the chapter starts out in happiness it will end in tragedy, so I thought it would do better here.  
> The idea of the robin-as-harbinger comes from my story, [A Bat And His Little Bird (Year One) I: Harbinger](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/63507.html).

_On the first day  
Of spring,  
I heard  
A robin sing._

  


**Unknown 19th Century, C.E.**

Winter snows melted into March, the landscapers arriving to proceed with winter clean-up. Alfred and Clark took care of the garden area, planning on what to plant, and Clark helped out the landscapers.

Bruce quietly spoke with Ben Applewood, who was more than happy to have Clark’s help, and assured Bruce that Clark would be treated with the respect that Lord Wayne’s Prize was due.

Bruce had left the Manor very little since Thanksgiving, conducting his business via computer and cellphone, begging off the social whirl of the holiday season with a touch of respiratory illness. Even in this advanced medical age, people disliked the idea of air-borne disease and so didn’t question the story.

He used the sequestered time to bask in the glow of love with Clark, only venturing off the estate as Batman. He also thought it best to give free rein to his euphoric state so that he could allow a full indulgence before toning it down in public. Until he was ready, Clark was essentially under a House Veil.

Bruce learned that Martha Kent was off-world but was expected back in May. So be it. He needed to adjust to his new life before he took on a new challenge of increased involvement in abolitionism.

As the days passed, Bruce fretted over his slave’s confinement. He knew that Clark loved it at the Manor but worried that he would begin to resent it if he never left the estate, or would become too fearful of the outside world.

Bruce didn’t want a Veiled slave chained to the bed, so to speak, except for playtime, he thought with a leer. More than ever now, he wanted a companion whose mouth could be used for conversation instead of just sucking him off.

That was why he was especially excited to bring home a pair of tickets the day before spring.

& & & & & &

“Clark!”

Clark looked up. Kneeling in the garden, he was pulling out old, dead plants, his hands encased in gardening gloves. As the day was mild, he wore a light jacket and baseball cap, a sudden gust of wind off the ocean bringing his hand up to grab the cap.

“What is it, Bruce?”

Bruce brandished the tickets. “How would you like to run away to the circus, little boy?”

Clark laughed. “I’d like that very much!”

“Good.” Bruce helped Clark up. “Haly’s Circus is in town and opens tomorrow.”

“Haly’s Circus? You’ve got a poster of that circus in your old room.”

Bruce nodded. “It’s the oldest ‘little circus’ in the country. High quality acts.” 

They walked to the kitchen, cardinals and robins swooping around as they built nests. Both men ducked as a robin swooped down from a nest over the lantern-shaped light over the kitchen doorway.

“Alfred, what’s for lunch?” Bruce asked as they entered the kitchen.

& & & & & &

That night at dinner Bruce talked about his day, he and Alfred going over some items for the weekly grocery list, and Clark quietly ate his vegetable soup.

Excitement skittered through his veins. He hadn’t been off the estate in months. While going out in public was always a risk, Bruce would protect him.

He was looking forward to the circus. Since he had very few memories of his life before Wayne Manor, almost every experience was new to him.

He hoped that his Master would also take the night off from Bat-business. Clark worried about him working alone in that crazy city.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?” Clark looked up.

“I said, what’s your preference for tomorrow, cotton candy or a corn dog?”

Clark laughed. “Both sound good.”

Bruce winked at him. “You may have both.”

& & & & & &

Clark held Bruce’s hand as they walked along the beach, the sound of the waves soothing in their eternal rhythms. Dusk was falling, tiny pinpoints of light twinkling in a violet sky.

So far their new relationship seemed to be working. Clark was ecstatic, able to freely admit his love and not have to hide it, at least in private. Alfred highly approved, and there was serenity again at Wayne Manor. There had been happy instances of their new relationship, which Bruce fondly recalled…

& & & & & &

 _Alfred was given the night off and Clark cooked a fabulous meal of herb-roasted chicken, chive-sprinkled whipped potatoes, carrots, and broccoli._

_The night was full of romance, Clark shy but less hesitant as he fully embraced being a lover instead of a slave, and Bruce was pleased._

_He looked over the rim of his wineglass and Clark met his eyes._

_They enjoyed dessert, chocolate silk pie with whipped cream. Clark licked the cream off his upper lip and Bruce hastily drank his wine._

_After dinner, Clark took the lead in the bedroom, slipping Bruce’s sweater up over his head, licking his bare stomach and chest like he was that cream, moaning, “Just like silk,” and Bruce grabbed his hair, guiding Clark’s lips to a ready nipple._

_All through that night, Clark demanded and wanted, and Bruce gave…_

_“Taste me, love me, do what you will with me,” Bruce moaned._

_Clark’s expression was pure lust._

_“Always love you,” he breathed, grabbing Bruce’s head and plundering his mouth…_

& & & & & &

Clark leaned over and kissed Bruce’s cheek. Bruce turned with a smile.

“What was that for?”

Clark’s blue eyes shone as he said shyly, “I love you.”

Delight spread over Bruce’s face, and he pulled Clark into a kiss.

When they separated, Bruce touched his forehead to Clark’s.

“I love you, too.”

They embraced, the sounds of the sea washing over them like their love.


	5. Under The Big Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark attend Opening Night at Haly’s Circus.

_Joy,  
In a little boy   
Should never  
Be lost._

  


**Emily Adams Cutler  
"Yellow Roses And Other Poems"   
1859 C.E.**

People flocked to the circus grounds, colorful in their spring clothes and happy faces. Red-and-yellow striped tents dominated the center of the grounds, excitement crackling through the air.

Clark paused at a poster by the ticket booth. “I thought slaves didn’t have last names?”

“They don’t.” Bruce looked at the poster advertising The Flying Graysons, the mother, father, and son in mid-air with bright smiles on their faces, collars and manacles sparkling in the sun. “But in show business, a slave act will use a surname. It’s easier, though of course legally there is no family name.”

Bruce presented the tickets and gave one stub to Clark after they entered the grounds. “Stay close to me.”

Clark nodded as he pocketed the stub.

They both wore jeans, Clark in a yellow shirt open at the neck and his sleeves rolled up on this pleasant evening. Bruce wore a dark-blue turtleneck sweater, his hair shaggy. Casual and relaxed, he strolled toward the midway, Clark beside him. In a crowd like this it was permitted for a slave to be right beside his Master instead of behind him.

“Who are those people, Master?”

Clark pointed to two serious-looking men and a woman in suits heading for the animal cages.

“Oh, they’re from the SPCA. They’re here to make sure the animals are well-treated.”

The smells of fried dough and sausages wafted on the air, hawkers plying games of skill and chance as Bruce and Clark walked the midway. Bruce was able to resist the games, but stopped by a booth where sausages sizzled on the grill. He bought two, he and Clark topping their sausages with mustard and relish and enjoying the snack. Bruce also bought cotton candy, popcorn, and soft drinks, and they headed over to the Big Top, filing in and finding seats on the wooden bleachers halfway up.

The show started fifteen minutes later, and the ringmaster introduced the parade of performers: clowns, stilt-walkers, fire-eaters, knife-throwers, trick riders, aerialists, the strongmen, elephants, lions, tigers and bears. All wore glittering, gaudy costumes and waved to the appreciative crowd.

The clowns kept everyone entertained as the first act was set up, Clark taking in all the sights, sounds and smells eagerly.

“Peanuts! Getcha peanuts here!”

Bruce signaled the vendor, who handed over two bags of peanuts after receiving the money. Plastic money wasn’t practical at the circus, so Bruce had stocked up on the old-fashioned paper and coins.

The first act featured the trick riders, and Clark was highly impressed by the skill and daring of the riders, performing backflips and handstands on the moving horses.

Clark wished he could be as graceful as these acrobats. He often felt big, awkward and clumsy, even illness aside. He was good at the trapeze routine he and Bruce practiced, but he wished he was better.

He sighed, the sound covered by loud applause. He was being silly, of course. Bruce loved him, an astonishment in itself, and he would have to believe in the power of that love.

As the trick riders finished, the clowns did their act, even Bruce smiling at the silliness. Clark cracked open a peanut, discarding the shell to join the others scattered on the floor. Clark felt like a litterbug but it was expected and the mess would be cleaned up. 

The smell of freshly-roasted peanuts mingled with popcorn and sausages, reminding Clark of the Halloween vendors in Gotham.

 _It’s like Halloween here, all glittery and costumed and magical with illusion._ He cracked another shell. _All so happy and entertaining. I wonder if there’s a darkness here behind-the-scenes._

Laughter rewarded the clowns, who scurried off and the elephants were paraded in, their silver-and-gold harnesses gleaming as they moved. Rubies, sapphires and emeralds winked as the huge pachyderms moved with a surprisingly-light step.

Clark admired the strength and majesty of these creatures, smiling as a wide-eyed child a few seats over pointed excitedly.

There was a definite buzz in the crowd, the ringmaster adding his patter. The elephants let out a distinctive cry as they raised their trunks.

A kaleidoscope of acts followed, always interspersed with the clowns. Bruce and Clark exchanged grins.

Then came the premier act as the lights dimmed and the spotlights shone on the trapeze.

“These are the best,” Bruce said enthusiastically. “We can learn a lot, but also appreciate the beauty and skill.”

Clark nodded, intensely interested in people flying for a living.

“Ladies and gentlemen, The Flying Graysons!”

Applause rolled around the Big Top, the elite act showcased in the yellow spotlight. 

The family was handsome, the father a well-muscled brunette, the mother’s reddish-brown tresses tumbling over her shoulders, and their dark-haired son small but energetic between them. All wore sparkling costumes of red-and-gold with striations of kelly-green. Long, yellow capes finished the ensembles, high golden collars obscuring their slave collars, but their manacles glittered as they waved, smiles on their faces.

Clark sensed that the smiles were genuine, not just plastered on for entertainment purposes.

“Watch as the Flying Graysons perform their death-defying routine…without a net!”

The crowd gasped, thrilled and excited as the applause grew louder. 

All three shed their capes and swung out in warm-ups. The family was grace personified as they flew through the air, confident and smiling as they played with each other.

Clark was fascinated by the ease with which they flew, even the boy adding dash and flair. His smile was the brightest that Clark had ever seen, and happiness radiated from him as he swung and flipped, hanging upside down. He exchanged a smile with Bruce, who was equally captivated.

After a few more minutes, the boy and mother returned to the platform, the boy putting his cape back on.

John swung out and Mary left the platform, swinging back and forth, their rhythm matching as they calibrated their timing. Clark remembered doing the same with Bruce, a perfect sync that was poetry in motion and essential to successful trapeze work. 

Mary let go of the trapeze, flipping over three times as the crowd gasped in delight. John caught her and just as the applause was loudest, the ropes jerked, then snapped.

John and Mary Grayson plummeted down as screams filled the air. They hit the ground with a sickening thud, a bone-chilled silence filling the tent as small puffs of dust wisped up, blood beginning to seep into the sawdust.

The silence weighed down as heavily as if it was a heat wave pressing down on the crowd, then it was broken by a small voice from high up on the platform, crying, “No! _Mom! Dad!”_ and then heartbroken sobs cascaded down to splash into every listener’s heart.


	6. All That Glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bruce finalizes plans to take Dick home, he learns about the dark underside of circus life for slaves.

_Gypsies, tramps and thieves  
We’d hear it from the people of the town  
They’d call us gypsies, tramps and thieves  
But every night all the men would come around  
And lay their money down._

  


**Cher  
"Gypsies, Tramps, & Thieves"   
1971 C.E.**

Bruce strode grimly through the backlot of trailers, Clark right behind him. The circus folk were talking with each other in hushed tones, moving out of Bruce’s way as they instinctively recognized royalty in their bones.

The two men stopped in front of one trailer, Bruce opening the door and stepping inside with Clark at his heels.

The trailer was filled with gaily-colored art, pillows, and furniture, a home warm and inviting.

Sitting up against a built-in couch was the slumped figure of a young boy, head bowed on his elbows that rested on his drawn-up knees, still dressed in his costume. The yellow cape curled around the small body that shook slightly.

Bruce swallowed, then knelt in front of the boy, Clark right beside him. Bruce reached out and touched the boy’s hair, and the child looked up.

Bruce could feel the shock of recognition deep in his bones as he looked into those tear-brimmed eyes. Recognition of a tortured soul who was suddenly an orphan in one cruel stroke of fate.

“Child, I’ve just bought you from Mr. Haly.” He smoothed the silky hair. “Everything will be taken care of.”

The child’s lower lip trembled. This time a look flittered through his eyes that Bruce did not recognize as he lowered his arm. 

The child reached out and touched that arm, lowering his eyes. With a tear-choked voice, he said, “I’m…here to…to serve, Master.” He began to struggle to his knees.

For a millisecond, Bruce was puzzled, then realized with a start that the child was trying to pay homage in the depths of his grief. He grasped the small hand and lifted the boy’s chin up.

“No, no, child, you are to be my Squire, but you need not worry about that right now.”

“But…a private performance is what people want…”

Bruce felt a chill go through him. “No need tonight.” He took a deep breath. “Trust me and my Prize…” he looked at Clark, who had instinctively removed his dark glasses “…Clark…who serves me well.”

The eyes, a deep sapphire, shimmered with a question.

Softly, Bruce answered, “I lost my parents, too. They were gunned down right in front of my eyes.”

The child blinked, then suddenly thrust himself into Bruce’s arms.

Startled but touched, Bruce held him close, lightly rocking, glancing over at Clark, who was close to tears himself.

After a few moments, Bruce gently disengaged, asking quietly, “Your name is Richard, correct?”

A nod, then a small voice said, “My family and friends call me Dick.”

Bruce smiled slightly. “Well, Dick, I need to finalize some paperwork. Clark will help you pack a bag. Tell him what else you want brought to the Manor and I’ll send someone for it tomorrow.”

“Y…Yes, Master.”

“Take him to the limo when you’re done,” Bruce said to Clark, who nodded.

Bruce stood, and on his way out he looked back, Clark and Dick already in an embrace.

Outside, he took a deep breath. Stars twinkled in the clear sky, the rotating red lights of a police car reflecting off the Big Top in the distance.

He began walking slowly to the circus owner’s trailer. To think that grief-stricken child had felt compelled to…! He let the anger push out his own tragic memories, his fists tight by his sides.

At the owner’s trailer he let the haughty mantle of the Prince of Gotham settle fully around him like a cloak, then entered.

Elias Haly sat at a cluttered desk, circus posters and odd curios scattered around. The trailer was in darkness, the only light emanating from an ancient gooseneck lamp on the desk.

Haly was a stout, thickset man whose paunch was deceptive as to the muscle underneath. His arms were corded muscle, a thick neck supporting a large head, dark hair slicked back as bushy eyebrows knitted in a frown. He smoked a Cuban cigar, dark eyes hooded.

Bruce took out his checkbook, writing a number, and ripped the check, holding it out. Haly took it, barely registering his surprise.

“Nice sum, Lord Wayne.”

“That covers the boy’s parents as well. I plan to bury them in the proper section of my family’s plot.” Bruce put away the checkbook. “All their possessions, too.”

“Very well. The police are asking us to stay a few more days.”

“I’ll have someone over tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here.” Haly took out a flask from his desk drawer. “Before you finalize anything, you have to know that the kid has a genetic disease. He needs a shot to keep his white cells from going crazy.”

A knot of fear formed in Bruce’s stomach. Another slave with illness? Could he take that on? 

Memory of the child’s haunted face was all the answer he needed.

“He just took the shot this morning, so you’re good for another year.”

“A year?”

“Yeah, that’s all he needs. I’ll send you the stuff you need before the next shot is due. I got connections.”

“I’d like to know those connections.” He didn’t want to rely on Haly for this precious medicine.

“Sorry, m’lord. My connections will only deal with circus folk.”

Bruce frowned. He crossed his arms, his expression becoming more severe. “How often do you loan your property out for private performances?”

Haly leaned back in his chair. “Special performances are given to those who pay well. First night of every new town we come to.” Haly drank from the flask. “People like the glitter, the excitement.”

Bruce ground out, “He’s only _eight.”_

Haly nodded. “His birthday was last fall.” He leaned forward. “Look, we do a good business, but how do you think an anachronism like this keeps going? We need a steady side income.” He sat back again. “I’m not doing anything illegal. The special performers who go beyond their circus skills are not underlegals. As for Dick, he’s an amusing diversion, a warm-up act. He takes care of the customers while they wait for their special performers to be set up for them by bringing them food and drinks and doing a few acrobatic tricks. He’s bright, charming, and amusing, as you’ll find out.” 

Bruce’s fists clenched and unclenched.

Haly’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “It’s an old circus tradition to offer beautiful bodies. You know the old saying: they call us gypsies, tramps and thieves…and worse, but the men of every town? They always come around and lay their money down.” Haly took another drink. “When Dick came of age, he would have been my star attraction for the _extra-private_ performances.” 

Bruce turned on his heel. “I’m taking the boy with me tonight.”

“Lord Wayne.”

Bruce paused but didn’t turn around. “Speak.”

“You may find what I do beneath your standards, but am I that different from you? Does that pretty Prize who follows you around have any choice when he comes to your bed?”

Bruce stayed frozen for a space of seconds, then left the trailer, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.

He stalked toward the limousine, Brendan slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine when he saw him approach. Bruce opened the back passenger door.

Dick was asleep in the curve of Clark’s arm, the tear-stained face resting against his chest. Clark said softly, “He’s exhausted, poor thing.”

Bruce climbed in and shut the door, ordering Brendan, “Take us home.”


	7. Little Bird Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is brought home to Wayne Manor.

_Little bird  
Fallen  
From the nest._

_Picked up,  
Its tiny heart  
Beating wildly  
In its chest._

_Little wings  
Fluttering,  
Trying hard  
To reach the sky._

_Broken,  
Robinsong faltering,  
Enough  
To make you  
Cry._

_Tended and petted  
Lavished with care,  
Little bird is home now,  
Robinsong  
Clear notes   
In the air._

  


**Emily Adams Cutler  
"Yellow Roses And Other Poems"   
1859 C.E.**

The limousine glided along the streets of Gotham quietly. Bruce looked out the tinted window, trying to chase away old memories.

Memories that lived in the darkness of night, with screams and blood and an awful, tearing grief.

Bruce looked at Clark and Dick, a small smile curving his lips. Obviously the two had already bonded. Clark’s heart had already been captured by the young boy asleep in his arms.

As for his bond with the boy…

In the moment he had met the child’s eyes asking him _why_ Bruce had bought him, a bond had been created between them, lightning-quick and draped in shared pain and grief.

Bruce gently laid a hand on the boy’s hair, Clark giving him a smile. 

The city streets turned to country roads, and Bruce began to feel a little better. As much as Gotham was in his blood, Wayne Manor was all that much more.

As the limousine went through the iron gates and up the curved driveway, Bruce thought of his small Household and how it was now expanded by one.

A sense of _déjà vu_ settled over Bruce as the limousine pulled up to the front door, Alfred coming out and Bruce exiting the car, Clark right behind him as he urged a sleepy Dick forward.

“Sir?”

“Alfred.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I made a purchase.”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred looked at Dick. “The evening news had the story.”

The echo of that conversation from six months ago hung in the pleasant spring air. Dick’s tired eyes grew wide as he took in the grand, imposing Manor. He looked at Alfred and instinctively relaxed. Alfred smiled at him and gently escorted him into the house, a hand on his shoulder. 

More wide-eyed looks from Dick as they entered the gleaming foyer, his sequined costume sparkling in the light from the chandelier, yellow cape bright and cheerful. 

Bruce said, “Dick.” The boy immediately turned. “Alfred will explain your duties, but not right now. Try and get some sleep.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Alfred, he’ll be in my old room.”

“Very good, sir. Come this way, Dick.”

Dick obediently climbed the grand staircase with Alfred, once again looking extremely tired.

Clark quietly took the small bag that he had helped Dick pack from Brendan. He removed his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes after the chauffeur had left.

“His life before wasn’t all smiles and happiness.”

“No, but he won’t have to worry about such service again.”

Clark replaced his dark glasses. “I’ll bring his bag up.”

Bruce folded his arms and watched Clark head up the stairs. He stayed motionless for several minutes, then, as if drawn by a magnet, walked down the hall to the library.

& & & & & &

When Clark entered Bruce’s childhood room, he saw Dick standing in front of the antique Haly’s Circus poster on the wall, fresh tears running down the boy’s face. Alfred was turning down the covers on the bed.

Clark went up to Dick, resting a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing.

Dick turned and wiped away his tears. “I…I…”

“It’s all right to cry.”

“A…A Squire can’t be bawling all over the place…”

“Dick, Master Bruce won’t begrudge you tears on this night.”

Dick swallowed and nodded. Alfred took the bag from Clark and set it on the bed. “Let’s get you unpacked,” he said, and Dick moved to help. He looked at Clark and gave him a tiny smile, then started helping Alfred sort through his clothes.

Very soon the clothes were placed in drawers and the closet, Dick had changed into a pair of light-blue pajamas and climbed into bed, and Clark was tucking him in. Alfred said goodnight and Clark was about to follow him when Dick said his name.

“Yes, Dick?”

“Clark, I…”

Clark sat on the edge of the bed. “What is it?” he asked softly.

Worried blue eyes met his. “Clark, what about my parents? Where will they be…be buried?”

“Master Bruce will take care of everything. He’s going to bury them in the slave section of the Wayne family plot. Please don’t worry.” Clark tilted his head. “What else, Dick?” 

“What kind of Master is…is Lord Wayne?”

“A good man, Dick. Gentle and kind and he’ll always protect you.” Clark gently cupped the boy’s chin. “He expects obedience, as any Master would, but he’s fair and generous.” Clark felt that he had to add the part about obedience. He didn’t want Dick to get the wrong idea about Bruce’s generous nature. Bruce indulged and even spoiled, but he didn’t tolerate outright disobedience.

Dick relaxed, and Clark smiled at him. “If you need something, Master Bruce and I are right next door, and Alfred is a few doors down.”

“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t I be serving, not being served?”

Clark gently pushed Dick’s hair back off his forehead. “You’ll be serving your share, believe me, but in this Household, you have the right to be cared for.” Clark smiled sadly. “I know it’s hard, but try and get some sleep. And…you’re safe here.”

Clark started to rise when Dick grabbed his hand.

“Clark?”

“Yes, Dick?”

“Thank you.”

Clark smiled again and squeezed his hand. “You’re welcome, Dick.”

& & & & & &

Bruce stared at the painting of his parents, the old pain flaring deep down inside him. He’d never forgotten that night, but there were days when the pain was dulled, almost bearable, and he even managed to smile and laugh, but there were days when it was as fresh and raw as he had first experienced it…

…and tonight was becoming raw and sharp.

Clark appeared in the doorway, then walked into the room. He took Bruce’s cold hand.

“Come to bed, Bruce,” he said softly.

Bruce obeyed.


	8. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares.

_Broken wings,  
Broken songs,  
Will there be someone  
To right the wrongs?_

  


**Lady Elsinore  
"The Poetry Of Grief"   
1362 C.E.**

_The shot should have sounded like a cannon, but instead it was soft, almost whispery, and he saw the red bloom blossom in his father’s chest, then his mother’s, her pearls scattering on the pavement as they fell…_

_…and fell…_

_…and fell…_

& & & & & &

Bruce jolted awake, certain that his scream was dying when he realized that the scream was not his. Clark was awake now and Bruce bolted out of bed, throwing on a robe as he ran to his old room.

& & & & & &

Clark was out of bed seconds after Bruce, pulling on his robe, and he found Bruce already rocking a sobbing Dick, his hand smoothing the boy’s hair as he said softly, “I know, it hurts, I know…”

Clark hesitantly approached and Bruce nodded. Clark sat on the other side of the bed and rested his hand on a shaking shoulder.

“Mom…Dad…they _fell…!”_

Bruce let the boy sob, then gently pulled back and wiped his eyes with a tissue.

“I’m…I’m sorry…Master…”

“Don’t be.” Clark’s voice was soft. “Our Master doesn’t ridicule us for showing emotion.” A small smile quirked Clark’s mouth and Bruce answered it over the top of Dick’s head.

Dick hiccupped, wiping his eyes, when Alfred spoke from the doorway. “Are you hungry, child?”

Dick looked at the butler. “Yes, sir.”

Alfred held out his hand. “To the kitchen, then.”

Dick got out of bed, putting a robe on over his pajamas, and took Alfred’s hand as they went downstairs.

“Alfred’s chocolate chip cookies cures all,” Bruce murmured. He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should speak with a child psychologist.”

“It’s his first night, Bruce.”

“True.” Bruce sighed, looking down at the blanket. “Clark, what if I can’t help this boy? Lord knows I’m not the most well-adjusted when it comes to my…my parents.”

Clark took his hand and squeezed it. “You understand his pain, Bruce. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Bruce looked at Clark, gratitude and love in his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

& & & & & &

Clark and Bruce entered the kitchen, Dick much calmer as he ate warm chocolate chip cookies and drank cold buttermilk. Alfred was doing the same, talking about the pheasant he had seen yesterday in the garden.

“Cookies, Master Bruce?”

Bruce held up a hand. “Don’t get up, Alfred. I’ll take care of Clark and me.”

Clark sat next to Dick, smiling at the boy, who gave him a small smile back. Clark already loved this boy, heartbroken over what he had endured, and he wanted to reassure Dick that he was safe here.

Security to a slave was like gold to a freeman: precious and of great value.

The warm, comfortable kitchen with delicious cookies and people who cared for him would make Dick feel secure.

Bruce handed Clark a plate, napkin, and glass of buttermilk, then sat down next to Alfred. He and Clark took cookies from the plate in the middle of the table.

Clark observed that Dick seemed to notice everything. His eyes had grown big as Bruce had served Clark. It was good that their Master showed he wasn’t rigid with roles in such an informal setting, but if Dick got the wrong idea, he and Alfred could set him straight.

But for now, it was enough to envelop Dick in love and caring.


	9. Twenty-Four Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick’s first day at Wayne Manor.

_Push  
The day away,  
Think of only  
The here  
And now._

**Sir Alan Crosby  
**   
"The Broken Looking Glass"  
  
1936 C.E. ****

Dick awoke, disoriented for a moment in the unfamiliar room, then memory flooded him and he moaned, burying his face in his hands.

Several minutes later, he slowly brought his hands down, staring at the circus poster on the wall in the corner. He looked down at his wrists, seeing the brand of Haly’s Circus on the metal. His new Master would have that changed.

He put his arms around his drawn-up knees, trying to order his thoughts. Right now his pain was numbed, and he had to acclimate himself to this new place.

His new life.

Dick slipped out of bed and opened the curtains, dazzled by the ocean sparkling under the early-morning sun. He saw a beautiful garden and wished he could be out in it, exploring and performing cartwheels. He needed to _move_ , as there would be no trapeze work-out today.

Maybe never.

He went into the bathroom, showered quickly, and dressed in jeans, a red sweatshirt and scuffed sneakers. He was a member of the Wayne Household now and no doubt would be given new clothes that befit the Lord’s personal Squire.

Lord Wayne.

Dick felt a little nervous thinking about him, but last night, when he’d awakened screaming…

Dick remembered the moment earlier when Bruce had told him about his own parents’ deaths. He had felt a connection with the man immediately, Master or not. 

He combed his hair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Could he be a proper Squire to the Prince of Gotham? He was a circus brat who had been a lot freer than most slaves. Pop Haly had insisted on performance skills first and foremost, and the circus folk were a mixture of slave and free, with clear lines between the status of the two groups but it had been very easy to forget slave status on occasion. Freemen had sat in those admiring crowds and clapped for him and his parents despite their manacles.

Dick worried that all the rules of a Royal Household would be stifling and difficult for him to learn.

He put his comb down and left the room, walking down the grand staircase. He paused at the foot of the stairs and listened.

There. Voices that way.

Dick stood in the entrance of the kitchen, observing Clark, Bruce, and Alfred at the table. Clark noticed him first and smiled. “Come on in, Dick.”

Dick walked in and sat beside Clark. “Good morning, Master Bruce, Clark, Alfred.”

“Good morning, Dick.” Bruce drank his coffee. “After breakfast, we’ll take a tour of the house and grounds.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“When is…is the funeral?”

“Tomorrow.”

Dick nodded and looked down. “I can perform any duties you wish today.”

“No duties today, though Alfred and Clark will eventually tell you what you need to know. Now, what would you like, pancakes or waffles?”

Dick looked up. “Waffles, please.” 

Alfred rose and expertly prepared the waffles, setting the plate in front of Dick with a bowl of fresh strawberries. Dick drizzled Vermont maple syrup over the warm waffles and took a bite.

“Oh, Alfred, this is delicious!”

“Thank you.” Alfred seemed pleased at the praise. He sipped his coffee while Bruce talked about business matters.

Dick concentrated on his waffles, soaking up the conversation. The Master had no trouble conversing with slaves, though Dick noticed he was firm when he spoke of tasks he wanted done around the house. 

Dick poured himself into observation, trying to keep his pain at bay. Tomorrow was the funeral. Tomorrow! He had to say goodbye in twenty-four hours.

Alfred was a firm yet affectionate man, and probably ran the Household expertly. Dick already felt comfortable with him.

And Clark? Dick felt very comfortable with him, too, and not just because of their shared slave status. Clark cared very much about people, Dick suspected, and he was very considerate of Dick’s feelings. He held high status in this Household but he wouldn’t use that status to lord it over other slaves. Dick felt that in his bones. 

Dick finished the excellent waffles and strawberries. Bruce noticed (did he miss anything?) and said, “Time for that tour.”

Alfred took his plate and Bruce and Clark rose from the table. Dick was pleased that Clark was joining them. Connection or not, he was a little nervous if left alone with Bruce. He knew that he wasn’t on top of his game and could easily make a mistake.

& & & & & &

Clark stayed close to Dick as Bruce conducted the tour, the boy’s eyes growing bigger as he saw every room: the long, spacious, living room; the formal dining room; the old-fashioned study, and the library.

“So many books,” Dick murmured.

“Can you read and write?” Bruce asked gently.

“Yes!” Pride shone in Dick’s eyes. “M…Mom and Dad…taught me how. Pop didn’t care if we knew how to read and write. In fact, he said he it was better for the circus, though we had to play dumb sometimes. I have books, too!” Anxiously he asked, “May I please have all the books from the trailer? There should only be two or three boxes’ worth.”

“Everything is being picked up today.” Bruce rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “It’ll all be stored here at the Manor until the day you’re ready to go through it, but I’ll make sure the books are placed here in the library.”

“In your library?!” Dick suddenly hugged Bruce. _“Thank you_ , Master!”

Startled, Bruce smiled and caressed Dick’s hair, then as Dick pulled back he said, “I’ll engage a tutor for you.”

“But…” Dick swallowed. “…is that allowed?”

“Well, officially I’m not supposed to teach you to read and write, but that’s not always enforced, and besides, you already know how. This is furthering your knowledge. After all, Clark serves as my secretary during some of my meetings. He’s an excellent writer and reads very well. In fact, I think he could be your tutor.” 

Dick looked eagerly at Clark, who laughed. “We’ll start soon, I promise.”

“You may read anything in here any time you wish,” Bruce said.

Dick beamed at Bruce. Clark was happy to see that smile, a little startled by the blazing intensity of it.

Dick’s eyes widened again as he saw the ballroom.

“So much room!” he said, running to the tall window, then skidding to a halt as he turned back, “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be so bold…”

“It’s all right,” Bruce said with a small smile.

Clark knew that Bruce didn’t want to squelch this childish enthusiasm, slave or not. Clark felt a joy watching this energetic boy, and Bruce seemed just as captivated.

_How could this joyful child have been born a slave?_

Of course, no child should be, but it hurt Clark to think of all the restrictions placed on such a free spirit. 

The next room was even better.

Dick’s bright blue eyes grew enormous as he saw the trapeze. His small chest heaved and indescribable joy lit up his face. He took a step forward.

“Of course you’ll be allowed to use this. I know that aerialists must practice daily. Clark and I use it on a regular basis. We look forward to any tips you can give us.”

Clark carefully observed the boy. A look of intense longing was on his face, then a sadness that made Clark want to hug him. He looked at Bruce, pain reflected in his Master’s eyes.

“Would you like to see the grounds now?”

“Yes, Master.”

Bruce and Clark escorted Dick outside in the warm sunshine, the profusion of colors creating a dynamic palette. Clark loved it here, the smell of rich earth and budding flowers heavy in the air. It was an exceptionally warm day for March, and Clark enjoyed the cool breeze off the ocean.

Dick was interested in seeing everything. Clark suspected that if he wasn’t subdued due to his grief and uncertainty of what to do in Bruce’s presence, he would have been cartwheeling down the green lawn.

Dick leaned over the seawall, Clark fighting the urge to grab hold of his shirt.

Dick pulled back and looked up inquiringly at Bruce.

“Yes, Dick?”

“Is there a beach nearby?”

Bruce nodded. “The water is too cold right now, but we’ll be using it soon. In fact, after lunch we can trek our way down there.”

& & & & & &

Lunch was in the kitchen, Dick quiet but attentive. Bruce noticed how much Dick enjoyed the leftover turkey sandwich and dill pickles. He filed away this observation as he did when learning about Clark’s tastes.

After lunch he, Clark, and Dick walked down to the private beach. Bruce sensed the boy’s pent-up energy and suggested, “Take a run.”

Nodding, Dick took off, scattering a cluster of seagulls.

“Quite the bundle of energy,” Clark said in amusement.

Bruce laughed. “We’ll have to make sure he keeps burning it off.” He slipped his hand into Clark’s.

Happiness swelled in Clark’s heart. As he and Bruce walked along the beach, the waves splashing close to their feet, Clark felt a contentment that brought a smile to his face.

Bruce’s cellphone rang. "Hello? Oh, hi, Ollie!” He continued walking. “You and Dinah are coming to town for the day tomorrow? I’m sorry, Ollie, the funeral of Dick’s parents is tomorrow.” Bruce listened, then said, “Well, that’s very kind of you. Sure, I’ll look forward to seeing you and your lady.” Bruce smiled. “’Bye.” He flipped the phone shut. “As you heard, Dinah and Ollie are coming to town.”

“But the funeral…”

“Ollie wants to come to the funeral. He…remembers his own parents’ deaths when he was young. He wants to offer some support.”

“That’s kind of him.”

“Ollie’s good people.” Bruce watched Dick scramble up some rocks. “Maybe he’ll tire himself out enough so that he won’t dream.”

Clark squeezed his hand, Bruce answering with a small smile.

& & & & & &

Dinner and the evening after was quiet, Dick listening to the conversation among the three adults.

As the hour grew later, Dick’s eyelids began to droop. A gentle hand on his shoulder roused him.

“Go on up to bed,” Bruce said quietly.

“Yes, Master.”

Dick went upstairs and was in bed in less than twenty minutes, but he sat up, his knees drawn up and his arms hugging them. His first day at Wayne Manor had ended, and he processed his observations.

The house and grounds were absolutely beautiful. Since his wandering days were over, this was a nice place to stay, with plenty of places to explore.

Aflred was very kind and a marvelous cook. Dick would be happy to work with him.

Clark was kind, too, and seemed very gentle and caring. Getting tutored by him would not be difficult at all.

Master Bruce did not seem like a harsh Master, though Dick knew that he couldn’t take liberties. Still, he considered himself lucky. Pop Haly might have kept him, but he was too young to be a solo act. If he couldn’t have been sold to another circus to join another flying act, he might have been put on the auction block.

Shivering, Dick rocked back and forth. He kept his mind on today, not tomorrow.

The Master and his bedslave were interesting. There seemed to be a lot of affection between them, more than what could be expected of a Master and slave. He wanted to learn more about them.

Dick rubbed his eyes. Tomorrow was going to come too soon. He settled down under the covers.

& & & & & &

When the nightmares came, Master Bruce and Clark came and helped him. 


	10. Strike The Tents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral.

_Time  
To say goodbye._

_Time  
To ask why?_

_Time  
To cry._

  


**Lady Elsinore  
"The Poetry Of Grief"   
1362 C.E.**

Dick awoke to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. He slipped out of bed and went to the window, peeking out.

The rain was coming down, light but steady. The ocean was gray/green, whitecaps bobbing as the waves tumbled. Dick’s face wore a stoic expression, letting the curtains slide back to block out the gray light.

Dick washed and dressed in his one dress suit, which Alfred had assured him was appropriate. He headed downstairs, his stomach knotted. Everyone was already in the kitchen.

“Would you like some cereal, Dick?” Alfred asked.

Dick nodded. Maybe cereal would be okay on his stomach. As he sat, Clark placed a small cup of strawberries next to his glass of orange juice.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Good morning to you all.” Dick was trying hard to be proper and polite, though all he really wanted to do was scream.

Clark squeezed his shoulder. “Take your time. We don’t have to be at the church ‘til ten.”

Dick nodded, staying quiet as conversation flowed around him.

“Dinah’s opening _Sherwood Florist_ here in Gotham,” Bruce said.

“Is this her first expansion outside of Star City?” Alfred added some strawberries to his cereal.

“Yes. She’s hoping to open a shop in Metropolis, too.”

“How long has Ms. Lance been in business, Master?” asked Clark.

“Three years, I think. She’s very successful in Star City, of course. She and Ollie are partners in the business, though Ollie is a silent partner. He provided start-up money and has seen an excellent return on his investment.” Bruce sipped his coffee. “I plan to send some business her way.”

Dick felt his stomach calm as he listened to the florist talk. The calm discussion reminded him of many mornings around the breakfast table with his parents. His father would then start telling jokes and his mother would laugh, and he would feel so happy….

He blinked rapidly, his throat tightening. He waited until his throat relaxed, then finished his cereal.

After brushing his teeth upstairs, he sat in the library on the windowseat, watching the rain. He then asked permission to go out in the garden, donning a slicker.

The air was cool, the rain slightly cold on his face. The flowers wept, bending under the weight of the water. Muddy ground squished under his boots as he wandered around the neat English boxwood and arborvitae.

Dick kept walking, absorbing the sound of the waves and wind, the color of the spring flowers, the touch of the rain on his skin. Better to lose himself in this garden than think about what was going to happen later.

Dick stopped in front of a rich, purple bourgainvilla, bowing his head, the rain running down his face.

Mingled with a few tears?

Dick allowed the ache in his chest to blossom.

_Mom! Dad!_

A gust of wind blew, whipping the rain into his face.

A hand gently rested on his shoulder.

“Come inside now, Dick.”

Alfred’s kindness washed over Dick like the rain. Dick choked back a sob, then Alfred’s arms came around him, one hand rubbing his back as Dick held on tight.

& & & & & &

The church was pretty, full of stained glass and statues. What amazed Dick was seeing so many of his fellow circus folk. Touched, he tried to acknowledge each one, Master Bruce leading him to the front pew with a hand on his shoulder.

A strange calm settled over Dick. His eyes were dry and he viewed the proceedings almost dispassionately. Rain pattered on the church ceiling, then sonorous organ music swelled. He felt little pain even as the caskets were brought in. He smiled a little at a few jokes in the eulogy, given by Brad the elephant trainer.

He watched the caskets borne out of the church and went with Master Bruce, Clark and Alfred to the limousine driven by Brendan, which contained only silence except for the rain on the roof as they rode to the cemetery. Each man seemed lost in his own thoughts, but the Master seemed far away, his body tense. Clark put a hand on his leg, the Prince coming back from a very sad place.

The limousine rode behind the hearse through the ornate iron gates of Gotham Cemetery. It was located on land close to the Wayne estate, so Dick knew that it would not be a long walk to visit his parents.

Black umbrellas ringed the graves. This section of the cemetery contained the graves of generations of Wayne slaves. The brand-new headstone was light-gray Vermont marble, containing the names JOHN AND MARY GRAYSON and their birth and death dates. Dick felt his throat constrict. Master Bruce had given them the honor of a last name. He slipped his hand into Bruce’s.

The caskets were laid by the freshly-dug earth, magnificent sprays of yellow and red roses framed by greenery laid on each coffin, the leaves and petals quivering-bright with moisture. As the priest intoned words that held no meaning, the rain lightened to a drizzle. Dick was glad to feel numb, otherwise he might have to acknowledge the hollowness inside him. As the priest wound down, the rain stopped, the sun peeking out behind the clouds.

Dick saw a blond man and brunette woman on the edge of the crowd. Both were expensively-dressed. Lord Queen and his Lady!

When the service was over Dick accepted condolences from some of his circus friends. Master Bruce, Clark and Alfred were next to him. 

Bruce disappeared after the last of the mourners drifted toward their waiting cars. Dick took one last look at the caskets, said a prayer, and slowly turned away.

As he, Alfred, and Clark headed for the limousine, the Master appeared from another section of the cemetery.

_Of course. His own parents’ graves._

The ride back was silent but Dick squeezed Bruce’s hand, a little shy at his boldness. The squeeze back let him know it was all right.

& & & & & &

The Haly Circus guests, slave and free, were amazed at the grandeur of Wayne Manor. At first they were subdued, but gradually the reception took on a lighter cast, fond stories told and laughter trilling out as liquid diamonds glittered in the garden after the rain.

Dick even smiled as some of the stories were told, and he felt a little less numb. 

He also watched his Master. You could learn a lot about a man from the way he treated slaves, as his dad always used to say.

Master Bruce was courteous, as most of his guests were manacled, something that rarely if ever occurred. The unusual situation of the majority of Dick’s fellow circus folk being slaves had created this social oddity. In fact, the Lord of the Manor would have been well within his rights to invite only the freemen to the reception.

The hierarchy was in place: when the buffet of cold meats, salads, fruit, and small cakes was announced as ready by Alfred, either the freemen or slaves serving their Masters and Mistresses were first, but after that, the slaves were allowed to serve themselves.

And as Dick enjoyed the stories about his parents, he kept his eye on his new Master and saw him receive the respect and deference that was his due, but that he actually spoke with some of the slaves. In fact, he spoke far more coolly to Pop Haly, Dick puzzled as to why. Alfred and Clark were fulfilling special requests by the freemen, and during one moment, Master Bruce sought him out and their eyes met, a slight smile quirking the Prince’s face.

Dick recognized the title of Prince deep in his bones. Let the American public believe that in the 23rd century, it was merely an honorific. Dick knew better.

“Oh, Dick, this place is like a palace!” Elena, the redheaded trick rider, was very excited, her green eyes sparkling.

“It’s different from the circus, all right.”

A sad little smile crossed Elena’s face. “You know I’m so sorry about your mom and dad, but I’m sure they’d approve of Prince Wayne as your new Master.”

Dick nodded. All the circus folk recognized his Master’s bloodline.

She rested a hand on his arm, her golden manacles glinting. “We’ll keep track of you on the society pages. I mean, as his Squire, you’ll be in the background of a lot of pictures.”

“I guess so.” He wondered just how often he would be performing duties in public.

Wouldn’t Clark often fulfill that role? He looked around for the older slave and saw Clark talking to Brad. Suddenly, Clark staggered, a hand to his head. Immediately, his Master was by his side, helping him to sit on a chair.

“Dick?”

“Wha…? Oh, I’m sorry, Elena.”

“It’s okay. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Dick nodded slowly. “Thank you, Elena.”

She squeezed his hand.

& & & & & &

Gradually, the reception wound down, but not before Bruce called him over and said, “Dick, this is Lord Queen and his Lady Love, Ms. Dinah Lance.”

Dick knew that use of the term ‘Lady Love’ meant that Dinah was officially Lady of the Queen Household, but not by marriage. He bowed and murmured, “Thank you for your attendance, Lord Queen, m’lady.” 

The blond man gently lifted his chin. “We are sorry for your loss, Dick.”

Dinah’s face radiated warmth even as sympathy shone from her blue eyes.

“Thank you, m’lord.” 

He sensed no mockery in the two of them, merely genuine concern.

As the circus folk prepared to depart, Pop Haly came up to him.

“Dickie, you’ve found a good place here.”

“I know, Pop.” Dick looked at the only Master he had ever known.

Haly sighed. “We’re all going to miss your mom and dad, kid.”

Dick’s throat tightened. “Thanks, Pop.”

Haly rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You were always our bright star.” He ruffled Dick’s hair. “You’ll do fine.”

Dick suddenly became aware of Bruce glowering at Pop from a few feet away. As Pop began to lift his hand, Dick grasped it.

“Thank you, Pop.”

For a moment, Dick was uncertain of what he read in the man’s eyes. Regret?

“Like I said, you’ll do fine, kid.”

Dick hugged him tightly, Pop caressing his hair, then the man gently disengaged, smiled, and walked away. All the circus folk climbed into cars and vans, driving away, leaving Dick to watch his old life disappear down the driveway while Bruce stood next to him, a hand on his shoulder, and Clark and Alfred on the other side.

His new life had begun.


	11. Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex attends an important meeting in Metropolis.

_And, lo,  
There shall come  
A Great Cataclysm  
That shakes apart  
The earth,  
And Angels shall  
Appear  
On the wings  
Of Heaven._

_Rivers will run  
And volcanoes boil,  
And few  
Shall escape  
The Day of Reckoning._

_But there is  
Hope,  
As the Great Savior  
Shall appear  
To lead his people  
To Freedom’s Rainbow._

_The House Of The Star  
Shall birth the Starchild,  
Who shall suffer  
The Shackles of Injustice  
Yet shall be  
The better for it._

  


**Psalm 67  
Song Of The Savior   
"The Book Of Rao"   
Pre-Modern Krypton**

On the day of John and Mary Grayson’s funeral in Gotham, Lex Luthor smiled and shook the hand of Major Ronald McBride. He handed Ron a long, warm, paper bag as they settled on a park bench on a side path screened by bushes from the main path of Golden Grove Park in the heart of Metropolis. The sound of splashing water from a nearby fountain made a pleasant aural backdrop.

“Mmm, pastrami on rye. Perfect, Lex. »

Lex took out his own turkey sandwich from another bag. “Sometimes a salad just doesn’t cut it.”

Ron laughed. A slender man around Lex’s age, he wore a tan trenchcoat as a slight breeze blew his short chestnut hair on this overcast day.

“I’m sorry it’s so early.” Ron glanced at his watch that read 11:10.

“Perfectly okay. I had no breakfast, and besides, I’ve never been one for convention. I eat when I want to eat.” Lex took a bite of his club sandwich. “I eat deli sandwiches and five-star meals.” Lex’s gray/blue eyes sparkled. “I don’t like to be pigeonholed.” 

Ron smiled. “You’ve never fit neatly into any little box, Lex.” He accepted the bottle of Sunpunch Lex handed him. “How’s Dad?”

“Bill is his usual sweet self.” Ron laughed. “After all these years as head of LexCorp Security, he’s as brilliantly efficient as ever, as a retired general should.” Lex sipped his Pepsi. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, the usual.” Ron’s hazel eyes were knowing. “Good thing you have high clearance, Lex, or I’d think you were on a fishing expedition.”

“I’d never trick you, Ron,” Lex said with a smile.

“I know.” Ron relaxed. “I can say that the threat from the Collective is waning.”

“Why?”

Ron shrugged. “Who knows their motivation? They’re totally alien to us, far more than the Rigellians or Jovarans or any other humanoid races out there. All we do know is that Ambassador West has requested termination of her mission to the Collective, and she wouldn’t do that if there was an imminent threat.”

“Good to hear.”

“Really.” A robin flew over their heads, intent on gathering twigs for its nest. “But remember, the Collective isn’t the only threat out there.”

“Ah.” Lex nodded. “The Kadorans.”

Ron grunted. “A race humanoid like most of those in the Empire, and also extremely aggressive. They live for war. Only our superior technology and sheer weight of numbers have kept them at bay for so many years.”

“We defeated them a hundred years ago. We’ve skirmished, but nothing since that war except brush fires and proxy wars.”

“Don’t think the Kadorans have forgotten. They were defeated and driven back to their Empire, and that defeat grates on them even now. They’ve conquered other star systems since then, but they will never rest until they’ve avenged their defeat at the hands of our Empire.”

“So have any incursions occurred from the Kadorans?”

“Just the usual Cold War posturings.”

“Hmm, guess that sounds encouraging.” Lex sipped his drink. “So, is the Hunt for Kryptonians still on?”

Ron nodded. “They’re an interesting people, and not just for the powers they gain under a yellow sun.”

“They have a strong Abolitionist streak.”

“Not all of them.”

“I don’t think any of them were practicing slavers.”

“Doubtful, certainly, but it’s dicey to generalize.”

“Point taken.” Lex enjoyed the sharp tang of brown mustard on his sandwich. “Are they completely scattered?”

“Mostly, though some are living and hiding in small bands on desolate worlds. As the Hunted, they are in constant peril of being arrested.”

“And executed.”

Ron nodded. “They’ll get little help out there. Anyone caught harbouring the Hunted can face jail time and confiscation of property.”

“As long as the Kryptonians remain the Hunted, they’ll probably remain disorganized as well.”

“True, but there is a symbol they could really around.”

“Oh? What symbol is that?”

“Kal-El, Heir to the Ruling House of El.”

Interest sparked in Lex’s eyes. “I thought the House of El was destroyed in the Great Destruction?”

“The Heads of the House, Jor-El and Lara, were almost certainly killed when Krypton exploded. As for their Heir, stories abound. Some say he perished with them, others that he was placed with Jor-El’s brother, Zor-El, and his wife Allura, off-world. Some tales even tell of the baby being placed in a rocket for some unknown destination.”

“Fantastic story.”

“Yes.” Ron took another bite. “But who knows what’s fantastic and what isn’t in this world?”

“So you think this Kal-El survived?”

“He could have. If he did, he’s probably deeply closeted.”

“Yes,” Lex agreed.

“He’d be in his mid-twenties by now if he did survive. A good age to lead a rebellion.”

“Do you think he could be capable of such a thing? Even with a handful of Kryptonians?”

“A handful of super-powered Kryptonians could cause considerable havoc.”

“Against the entire Empire?”

Ron nodded. “They could.”

Lex drew a deep breath. “Can they be controlled?”

Ron shrugged. “Some people seem to think so, though it’s not clear if any control has ever been successful. The military tends to eradicate, not control. Or at least that’s their first instinct.”

Lex smiled faintly.

“All I know in that the military uses the Green K to kill the Kryptonians. It’s the only effective known weapon against them.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing I’ve ever heard of, and I’m pretty high clearance.”

Lex nodded. “Well, I hope that for this Kal-El’s sake, that he didn’t survive.”

A look of understanding passed between them as they thought of the cruelties the Government could bring to bear.

They discussed other things, then Ron’s lunch hour wound down and they parted, Lex strolling through the park. Overcast or not, it was a lovely spring day.

This lunch meeting had been productive. Re-connecting with Ron was his first step in gaining entry into Kryptonian matters. Ron was privy to the Hunt and would probably recommend him for that committee. If Lex had to start with the Hunt, he would do so.

Eventually he would find and join the faction who wanted control, not eradication.

Ron was no fool. He knew that Lex wanted something but seemed to have no problem with it.

_Good. Because I can’t stand waste, and killing Kryptonians instead of using them is a damned waste._

Lex whistled as he walked back to the office.


	12. Spring's Child

_Spring is here!  
New life begins._

_Spring is here!  
Feel the earth  
Between your fingers._

_Breathe in the air  
Sweet and wild,  
Protect the joy  
Of Spring’s Child._

  


**Emily Adams Cutler  
"Yellow Roses And Other Poems"  
1859 C.E.**

Dick awoke, unmoored for a second, then it slammed him: _Mom! Dad!_

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to squeeze out the pain, but all it did was leave him exhausted. He trembled, then resolutely forced himself out of bed, showered, and dressed.

Today he would learn his duties as the Squire of Lord Bruce Wayne.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he greeted Bruce, Alfred, and Clark. Bruce sipped his coffee and said, “Starting tomorrow I think we’ll work out a schedule for trapeze work.” Dick’s heart beat a little faster. “I might not be able to work out with you every day, but Clark will be an excellent partner.”

Clark’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Dick, who felt a little better.

“Thank you, Master.”

Bruce left for the city after breakfast, Clark helping Alfred clean up. Dick was directed to the library to wait for them.

He happily scanned the books on the shelves, wondering if any of them would be used in his tutoring sessions.

Dick glanced up at the painting over the fireplace. He slowly walked over and stood in front of it, head tilted up.

The Lord and Lady were handsome people, smiling and benevolent. And the boy? Smiling and happy.

Dick resolved to find out the details about the Waynes’ murders. He knew that Bruce had seen them killed, but not how it had happened. 

“Dick.” Dick turned as Alfred and Clark walked in. “Be seated.”

Dick obeyed, sitting on the chair while his superiors settled on the couch. 

“Your duties are the usual for a Squire at Master Bruce’s beck-and-call, providing him with personal comforts such as snacks and drinks, carrying his papers, fetching a footstool if he so desires it…in short, whatever he wants and needs.” Alfred adjusted his tie. “These are also the duties Clark and I perform for him, but if he takes you with him off the estate, these duties are your personal responsibility.”

Dick nodded. If the Master wasn’t nit-picky, he should be able to do all that.

“Since you can read and write, that will be a help as well. Your first tutoring lesson begins tomorrow with Clark. After morning chores, you will sit with him. Some days the lessons may be in the afternoon, if, for instance, it is wiser to work in the garden in the morning rather than the afternoon due to the weather.

“You will assist Clark and myself with household chores, and that includes the gardening. Master Bruce is also interested in trapeze work, as he mentioned this morning, so you’ll be doing that as well.”

So far everything sounded fine to Dick. He nodded and sat straight-backed, eager to look ready.

“Tomorrow the engraver is coming to brand your bracelets, and you will be measured for a new wardrobe.”

“Sir, what’s my first duty today?”

“Gardening. We need to prepare the kitchen plot for planting.”

Dick hopped off the couch. “Should I change to jeans?”

Alfred nodded.

Dick raced up the stairs, missing the amused glances behind him.

& & & & & &

Dick loved gardening. In the circus, all you could have were windowboxes on your trailer. A real, honest-to-goodness garden was new to him.

He helped till the soil, the mud season thankfully over. He liked the act of working with the earth and feeling the ocean breeze on his skin. Apple blossoms blew over from the orchard, swirling like snow in a globe that someone had just shaken.

He was excited to live by the ocean. The circus had visited seaside towns and he had always loved stealing away to the beach when he could. He was hoping he would be allowed to swim when the water got warmer.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?”

“Does Master Bruce allow you to go swimming?”

Clark paused in his raking. “Yes, he does.”

Dick beamed. “I’m a good swimmer.”

Clark laughed. “Good! You’ll fit right in.”

Delighted, Dick set back to his own task with vigor.

& & & & & &

Bruce was pleased to learn of Dick’s integration into the Household. He listened to Alfred report of all the tasks completed by his new Squire, Clark chiming in.

Bruce took Clark’s hand and they strolled out in the backyard, Bruce glad of the fresh air after being cooped up all day at Wayne Enterprises. He studied Clark’s beautiful profile.

“Clark?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think that Dick will really fit in?”

Clark looked at him. “I do.” His eyes were searching. “Will you be telling him about Batman?”

“Not yet.” Bruce felt in a brooding mood. “We need to know if we can trust him.”

“Bruce…”

Bruce squeezed his hand. “I know, Clark. He seems bright and dedicated, but I have to be sure.”

Clark looked stubborn but said nothing. Bruce quirked a smile. “You really love that boy, don’t you?”

Clark smiled. “He’s easy to love.”

  
_Of course. Loving comes easily to you, my Starchild. Bruce sighed. It’s your greatest strength…and your greatest weakness._   


“Clark, you do realize what’s at stake here?”

“Of course, Master,” Clark answered with a frown.

“If I was exposed as the Batman, my protection abilities would be hampered. Those I had put away for their crimes would thirst for revenge.

“And what about the Government? What if they decided that it was too good an opportunity to pass up? What if they confiscated the Wayne billions, using my vigilantism as an excuse?”

“But, Master, the Government leaves the costumed heroes alone. There’s you, the Flash, Green Arrow, Black Canary, the Hawks…”

“But it could change, Clark.”

Clark looked troubled. “Confiscation of… _everything?”_  


Bruce nodded. “Every asset I have. Any slaves I own go automatically to the public auction block. No private sales.”

Clark shivered.

“I don’t worry so much for Alfred, except for the block, of course. Wherever he ended up, he’d wind up running the place.” For a moment, they both grinned, then Bruce continued, “If a brothel owner bought him to be the _majordomo_ of the house, overseeing the staff, he’d make friends with all the slaves. You know Alfred.”

Clark nodded, a faint smile on his face.

“He’d more likely end up in a corporate setting or great house.”

  
_Alfred would always survive, of that I have no doubt._   


“What about Dick?” Clark asked softly.

“He might end up a Squire somewhere else, or as a companion for a rich man’s son.”

  
_And by the time that boy reaches his teen years, I’ll have to Veil him._   


If Dick was of age, he’d end up the star attraction in some whorehouse for sure. The thought made Bruce’s blood run cold.

Clark was looking out over the ocean, the sunlight sparkling in his dark hair.

  
_And that would be your fate, my love. Some brothel owners have corporate backing. They could outbid wealthy private freemen._   


It nearly broke Bruce’s heart to think of Clark in some whorehouse, servicing one or a dozen men per night, his body and beauty used and broken, his spirit shattered.

Because Bruce knew that the gentle spirit of his beloved slave would never survive the constant degradation and brutality. Clark was a survivor, but he needed love before he became a numbed shell of his former self.

A fierce protectiveness rose up in Bruce. Clark’s vulnerability attracted slavering jackals like the Caldwells, and he would see them all dead before he’d let them destroy his Beloved.

“Clark, I’m sorry to upset you.”

“No, I…” Clark smiled faintly. “I needed to understand your reluctance to tell Dick, and I do now.”

“I believe we _will_ be able to tell him, Clark. I just need to take his measure.”

Clark nodded. Bruce drew him into a kiss, holding him in a tight embrace as the wind blew with the gentle energy of spring.


	13. The Stars Fly By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Hal are on a mission in the Outer Rim.

_Stars sprinkle  
My windows  
Like lights  
From heaven._

  


**Javelle  
Of The House   
Of Jorelle   
"Starlight"   
1961 C.E.**

“This is Major Steve Trevor of Starfleet, Earth Division, of the Galactic Empire. Requesting permission to establish orbit.”

_“Permission granted, Major Trevor.”_

Steve shot Hal a smile as they maneuvered the sleek vessel into orbit around Cestus II, one of a string of rocky outposts here on the Galactic Rim. The two astronaut pilots smoothly achieved orbit, both men on high alert.

_“The shuttle will dock with you at 0830.”_

“Thank you, Cestus II.”

Both pilots relaxed slightly. “Sounds like everything’s A-OK,” Hal observed.

“Fine by me.” Steve slipped out of his chair. “Did you set out those extra pillows in the stateroom?” 

“Yes, Mother.”

Steve stuck his tongue out and Hal laughed.

The blond major quickly checked the small stateroom. He and Hal always shared the other cabin, so it had been easy to prepare this one.

Steve decided that he was satisfied with the state of the stateroom. Nothing fancy, but certainly comfortable enough.

He visited the head, then returned to the pilot’s seat. Hal stretched, his green eyes sparkling.

“So, are the scented soaps all arranged in their basket and did you put a chocolate on the pillow?”

“Ha ha,” Steve said as he hid his smile. “Get ready to receive shuttle, wiseguy.”

Hal smirked and he turned to the console.

The small outpost shuttle was flying their way. Steve and Hal initiated the sequence for docking, and a soft thump! was their reward as both ships joined.

Both men hurried to the docking hatch, and they greeted their passenger as the tall brunette woman in the shimmering scarlet cloak smiled as she exited the airlock.

“Welcome aboard, Amabassador West.”

“Thank you, Major Jordan.” She extended a slender hand and shook hands with both men.

Iris West looked approvingly at the interior of the sleek little ship. Her light-blue metallic gown shimmered as she moved.

“Your cabin is this way, Ambassador,” Steve said, and he escorted her to the stateroom.

“Thank you, Major Trevor.”

While Iris freshened up, Steve returned to the cockpit.

“Lovely lady,” Hal said as he supervised the undocking procedure.

“ETA Earth four weeks.”

“Yet another month cooped up with you?” Hal shook his head.

“Just lucky I guess, my friend.”

Hal snorted.

“Gentlemen, I thank you for bringing me home.”

They turned to see their relaxed passenger standing behind them.

“Sorry they didn’t send a starship, Ambassador. It’ll take us a little longer to get home,” Hal said.

“Perfectly fine. A starship has way more people, exponentially creating the chance for leaks.”

Hal frowned. “Should we be on war alert?”

“No.” Iris crossed her arms. “In fact, I believe just the opposite.”

Steve asked, “So the Collective isn’t planning to attack us?”

“Not full-scale invasion as the Empire feared, no. Just the usual skirmishing we see in this Cold War.”

Steve felt relief. He had no wish to go to war with the mysterious Collective.

“Please have a seat, Ambassador,” Hal invited. He pressed a button and a third chair popped up from the floor. It was set between and behind them but close enough for easy conversation.

Delighted, Iris took the seat. “Thank you.” She arranged her skirts and cape around her in stylish fashion. “You gentlemen are of the highest clearance, so I can tell you that the bigger threat is probably the Kadorans.”

“Damn.”

“Agreed. While the Collective would be difficult to fight as we know so little about them, but the Kadorans are a savage warrior race that lives for war.”

Steve could feel the answering tension in Hal. Stories of Kadoran savagery were legendary. If you were unlucky enough to be captured, you would consider yourself lucky to be killed instantly rather than be subject to the experiments the Kadorans performed on prisoners. Contemptuous of enemy soldiers who didn’t’ commit suicide upon capture, POWs were considered fair game to be used in any way possible to benefit their captors.

“Almost makes you wish for the Collective,” Hal said with a grimace.

“So what are the Collective like?” Steve asked.

“Shadowy, amorphous, very difficult to pin down.”

“How do you communicate?”

“Universal translator.” Iris frowned. “I got a sense of contempt for the Empire, but that’s not surprising. The Collective consider themselves superior.”

“Don’t we consider ourselves superior to primitive races, at least in the area of civilization?”

“We do.” Iris smiled. “It’s all in point-of-view, I suppose.”

Hal chuckled. “I can see why you’re such a successful diplomat, Ambassador.”

“Gentlemen, since we’re going to be together for four weeks, call me Iris.”

Both men beamed. “It’s Steve and Hal, then,” Steve said.

“Excellent.”

& & & & & &

Conversation went smoothly as the stars slipped by the viewscreen, beautiful in their simple majesty. Hal and Iris were waxing enthusiastically over a club on Altair VI.

“The fountain is one of the most beautiful in the galaxy. Such wonderful rainbow colors! And the water from that fountain tastes purer and clearer than anything I’ve ever sampled, ” Iris said.

“It’s pumped in from a natural spring in the mountains. It’s more expensive then their alcoholic drinks!”

“People appreciate water in its purest form.”

“I guess that’s why some people become vegetarians and vegans, trying to stay pure.”

A light flashed on the console. Steve picked up the commpiece and listened. He flicked on the speakerphone.

_“S.O.S., S.O.S…we request assistance…our engines are dead…please respond…”_

Hal and Steve frowned, Hal mouthing, A Collective trick? But Iris shook her head.

“Jazzer Six, we read you. What are your coordinates?”

 _“1467.3, **Javelin.** Please come quickly.”_

“Jazzer. Code for Jovaran,” Iris murmured.

“We’re on our way, Jazzer Six. ETA thirty minutes.”

 _“Thank you. Out.”_

“Jovarans are a pleasant species. It’s doubtful they’ll cause trouble,” Iris said.

“Good.” Hal punched in the coordinates. “Are you sure it’s not a Collective trick?”

“Not one hundred percent, but it’s not really their style. They like to feint and parry with raids on outposts, not pirate single ships with fake distress calls.”

“That’s good to know,” Steve said as he banked the ship in the new direction.

“Looks like we’ll be delayed a little more,” Hal said.

“Barry might be upset at a later arrival date, but he’ll understand.” Iris watched as Steve performed another maneuver.

“Who’s Barry?” Hal asked.

“My boyfriend. Blond like you, Steve. He’s a police scientist in Central City.”

“That sounds cool.”

“He’s actually one of the best scientists in the city. His forensic work is top-notch.”

& & & & & &

Thirty minutes later they approached the distressed spaceship, Hal and Steve performing the docking maneuver. Iris went to the boarding hatch and greeted the new passengers.

“Thank you for your help.”

The Jovaran in front was tall, around six-foot-four, and angular. He was dressed in a silvery metallic-blue, the symbol of his House in the shape of a gold medallion. Skin the color of honey accented amethyst eyes as the Jovaran bowed.

“You’re most welcome, Lord…”

“…Althor, of the House of Jorelle.”

“Lord Althor,” Iris bowed in response.

The tall figure behind him was similarly dressed, but with a telling difference: while the sapphire beads entwined in Althor’s blond-streaked brown hair were noticeable as they jingled, closely matching the musical tone of the Jovaran’s voice, the figure was more liberally adorned, more beads and crystals draping his robes, a silver chain wrapped around a slender waist, a sapphire sparkling at the dangling end. 

The face was completely Veiled, even the eyes hidden. Steve and Hal recognized the Veiling of a slave.

“I am sorry we have to inconvenience you.”

“No trouble at all, m’lord,” Steve said as he approached.

Althor bowed and Steve reciprocated. The Jovaran asked, “Is it possible to tow our ship? It’s valuable and belongs to the King.”

“We’ll give it a try, Lord Althor.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re in luck, m’lord. We have an empty cabin that you and your Ja’zel can share.” 

“Excellent. I would hate to put anyone out.”

Iris led the Jovarans to the last available cabin.

“Hal, can we handle a tow?” asked Steve as he slid back into his seat.

“I think we can, though a tow is going to chew up more fuel than we planned on.”

Steve frowned. “That’s not good out here on the Rim.”

“Let’s change course to Cestus III. We can pick up some extra fuel and may even find an engineer to fix the _Eagle.”_

“The…? Oh, that’s the name of Althor’s ship?”

Hal nodded, a grin curving his lips. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” He winked. “’The _Eagle_ has landed’.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Wonder what the Apollo astronauts would think of us today?”

“They’d be jealous as hell.” Hal’s fingers flew over the console. “Those grizzled old test pilots like Chuck Yaegar would give their eyeteeth for the chance to fly these babies.”

Steve grinned. “What would you sat to ol’ Chuck if you saw him?”

“I’d say thank you for being a pioneer, for being the coolest guy ever, for giving us all inspiration.”

“Wow, I love it when you get all serious.”

Hal grinned. “I love it when you love it, Stevie.”

“I love boy-on-boy love,” Iris said as she put her hands on both men’s chairs. 

Hal and Steve exchanged smiles. Iris settled into her chair. “Do we have to pick up extra fuel?”

“Very savvy, Ambassador,” said Hal.

“Cestus III should be able to provide fuel.” Steve adjusted setting on the console.

“Didn’t Cestus III suffer a raid awhile ago?”

“Yes, by the Collective. Or at least it was thought it was them.”

Iris tapped her necklace. “Well, let’s hope all is well.” She glanced back at the aft of the ship. “I’d hate to see a member of the Jovaran Royal Family wind up as toast in our care.”

“Royal Family? Is Althor a Prince?” Steve asked.

“He’s a cousin of King Jodelle. He’s a Favored One, and will be helping with the planning of the Royal Wedding this fall.”

“That’s right, it’s been the buzz of the gossip circuit for months.” Hal looked at his companions. “What? It’s all over the news!”

Iris and Steve snickered.

 _ **“Javelin** , request ETA,”_ crackled the subspace radio.

“Cestus III, we’ll be there in six hours.”

_“See you then.”_

“Well, looks like we’ll have plenty of time for dinner.” Curiosity lit Steve’s eyes. “Is the word _Ja’zel_ Jovaran for slave?”

“It’s more like their word for Prize.”

“So this slave is a pleasure slave?”

“Definitely, the way he’s dressed.”

“How can you tell it’s a male under all those robes?”

“The heavier set of headdress beads are on the right. A left set indicates a female.”

“Interesting.”

“Jovaran society is interesting. Like just about every society, they practice slavery, but they value slaves far beyond just monetary value. They treasure them, and not just pleasure slaves. They have laws protecting them from abuse, for instance, as in beating them simply on a Master’s whim. Punishment is allowed, but there has to be a reason.” Iris crossed her legs. “An owner has tremendous power over a slave, but it isn’t as total as a Human Master.”

“So they can’t mutilate their slaves just for the hell of it?” Hal asked bitterly.

Irish shook her head. “And no underlegal sex.”

Steve frowned. “We don’t allow underlegal sex.”

“Don’t be fooled, Steve. A lot more freemen than you think don’t honor that rule.”

Steve sighed. “I suppose.”

“Jovarans have strict rules for slave and Master behavior. The freemen value their slaves, though they don’t allow disobedience.”

“Is Veiling common?” 

“Yes. Alll _Ja’zel_ must be Veiled.” She smiled. “Unless it’s a _Ja’zzana Banqua.”_

“What’s that?” Hal asked in amusement.

“’Pleasure Banquet’.”

“Let me guess. Translation: orgy.”

Iris laughed. “One hundred percent correct.”

“Well, can’t fault ‘em for having a little fun.”

Althor joined them for the meal Steve and Iris prepared. Hal put the ship on autopilot and joined them as Althor’s slave did, too. Steve wondered if Althor would direct his slave to sit at his feet, but the Jovaran asked, “Any objections to my slave sitting at table?” There were none, so the Veiled slave sat beside his Master.

Conversation was light and easy, Steve glad that Althor was so personable. He’d been around royalty before, and it could be an uncomfortable situation.

Althor reminded him of Bruce. While the title Prince of Gotham was an honorific because he was an American, Steve recognized the man’s descent from a noble lineage.

Bruce could be haughty, but he was respectful of other people. While he was accustomed to a wealthy lifestyle, he seemed able to relate to people of different classes. He treated his slaves well, too.

Althor was pleased by the food, a collection of Earth and Gemonese fruits and vegetables.

“So, Ambassador, I assume your mission went well?”

“It did, Lord Althor. I suppose my appointment was all over the news.”

“Yes, it was. They did not want to keep it a secret, I see.”

Iris smiled. “If they had, I would have been picked up in cloak-and-dagger style.”

“Lucky for us, then.”

Iris smiled again, plying her charm. Steve decided her boyfriend was lucky, too.

“So the wedding is the big item on the social calendar,” Hal observed.

“Quite easily the social event of the season,” Althor said with a smile.

“Now, is King Jodelle marrying royalty?”

“Yes. Prince Lorel is from another branch of the House of Jorelle, but far enough away that intermarriage is not an issue.”

“What will the couple do for an heir?”

“Adoption from elsewhere in the family, or a woman of royal blood will become a surrogate. She would be a Queen-Regnant and occupy a rare place of honor.”

“Sounds very practical and workable,” Steve said.

“Very.” Althor sipped his wine. “In the distant past, there were bloody wars of succession until someone was smart enough to realize how wasteful it all was. It became traditional for either the King or Queen of the Ruling House to marry the same gender and then pursue the avenues I mentioned. Since a direct blood heir was not required, there was less intrigue, and the Queen-Regnant has a position of honor, not power.”

“Sounds like you’re satisfied with this cultural arrangement.”

“Very much so. Our planet has been at peace for a hundred years.”

“But you’ve provided Warrior s for Galactic wars,” Hal said.

“Yes. As part of the Empire, we have an obligation to protect it as well as share in its bounty.”

“Admirable attitude, m’lord.”

« Yes. A pity not all races believe the same. »

Hal raised his wineglass. “Do you mean the Vulcans and Kryptonians?”

“Well, they are two different cases.” Althor toyed with a slice of cucumber. “The Vulcans practice slavery but dislike the militaristic aspect of the Empire. They prefer resolving disputes through diplomacy and intellectual means.”

“But they’re great Warriors.”

Althor smiled. “The fiercest we have.”

“Some do serve in Starfleet.”

“Some.” Althor pushed the salt shaker toward his slave. “Because while the general society adheres to the Tenets of Surak, some are devoted to the old ways.”

“Doesn’t Ambassador Sarek’s son serve in Starlfeet?” Steve asked.

“He does. And he and Sarek haven’t spoken in eighteen years because of it,” Iris said.

“The Kryptonians present different challenges.” Althor accepted a plate of fruit from his slave.

“Power and their disinclination to use it in the service of the Empire,” Hal said.

“Correct, Major Jordan.” Althor sliced a rosy passion fruit. “The Empire does not fancy a race of beings capable of obtaining superpowers and predisposed to opposing slavery.” 

“Their powers are formidable.”

“Extremely. We’ve seen them fly, exhibit great strength and invulnerability, use heat vision. I’m sure there are many other powers that aren’t generally known.”

“Do you think the Hunt is going to be ultimately successful?” Steve asked.

“Unfortunately for the Kryptonians, yes.”

Silence fell over the table, then Iris asked, “Do you think the marriage will be successful?”

Switching gears, Althor said, “I think so. The King has been dating Prince Lorel for quite awhile. If it wasn’t going to work, they would know it by now. Besides, they keep things fresh with their pleasure slaves.”

“Always a good marital aid,” Iris laughed.

Althor smiled as he patted his slave’s hand. “Best one I know.”

After the meal was finished, Steve and Hal returned to the cockpit while Iris entertained Althor, his slave sitting at his feet while he talked. He idly stroked his slave’s head, the beads jingling as he combed over the soft fabric.

Iris and Althor kept up their conversation for the rest of the evening, then Althor and his slave retired. Iris joined Steve and Hal, stars gliding past the viewscreen.

“Althor seems like an interesting person,” Steve said.

“He is. Jovarans in general are pretty interesting.” Iris sat back, crossing her legs.

“They sure seem pretty laidback.” Hal adjusted a setting.

“They are, but don’t let their mild natures fool you. They can be savage Warriors.”

The intercom crackled. **“Javelin,** this is Cestus III. ETA still on schedule?”

“Still on schedule, Cestus III.”

 _“Good.”_ A burst of static cut off any further words, then a new voice said, _“Whoo hoo! Hunt’s on!”_

Steve, Hal, and Iris frowned. Steve flipped a toggle.

_“Sorry about that, **Javelin**. Our frequencies got crossed.”_

“What’s going on?”

_“One of our pilots is on a Hunt. He’s just a little overexcited.”_

“Um, okay.”

_“We’ll be ready for you.”_

“Thanks, Cestus III. Out.”

Steve was still frowning as he signed off. “How many Hunt Decrees are on the books right now?”

“A handful, but the one that’s hottest right now?” Iris paused. “The one against the Kryptonians.”

Silence fell over the trio as their ship headed to Cestus III.


	14. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick begins his lessons with Clark and learns more about the Wayne Household. Meanwhile, Clark is feeling especially vulnerable.

_Here ye shall find solace,_  
In this castle-by-the-sea,  
Here ye shall find love,  
Just you and me. 

  


**Alan Wayne  
** "Song Of Scotland"  
1859 C.E. 

Dick looked eagerly at Clark. He was more than ready to start his lessons.

Sunlight streamed into the library through the spotless windows, the room bright on this late March morning. Clark and Dick sat at a round table by one of those windows, several books stacked up between them. The computer on Bruce’s desk was up and running, ready for use. Dick picked up his stylus and twirled it.

He was feeling better today. Sadness still clung to him, but he was happy for the distraction of lessons.

“Now, I checked the books you requested from your trailer, and while some were obviously beginners’ books, I saw that you had some for your age level, and a few higher than that. Can you read the higher-lever books?”

“Yes.” 

Clark opened one and slid it over to Dick. “Please do.”

Dick read a paragraph with ease. As he started the next one, Clark said, “That’s fine.” He smiled as he sorted through another pile of books. “I took these from the shelves. We’ll be getting regular textbooks soon, and we can also subscribe to on-line texts. What subjects have you studied?”

“Just some history and English. We didn’t have textbooks on science or math.” He blushed. “I don’t know too much math.”

“Math will be part of the curriculum, then.” Clark made some notes. “It’ll be a full curriculum, but it’s good that you have a grounding in history and English.” Clark looked at Dick. “What subjects interest you?”

“Everything!”

Clark laughed. “An eager student! Very good.” He flipped through a few more books. “We can start with your strengths to get you into the rhythm of these lessons. I’ll also speak to Master Bruce about letting us use laptops, but for now we’ll have to use the PC on his desk for on-line work.”

Dick nodded, feeling very relaxed with Clark. The sunlight glinted off Clark’s manacles, creating lovely rainbow prisms. Dick glanced down at his own manacles. They would be receiving the Wayne brand this afternoon. He felt a little nervous about it. The only brand he had ever worn had been that of Haly’s Circus. 

What if he failed as a Squire? Would he be sold?

“Dick?”

“Y…Yes?” Dick looked up.

“I asked you to open your book to Page 20.”

“I’m sorry.” Dick quickly opened the book in front of him and concentrated on what Clark was saying.

& & & & & &

Clark poured two glasses of lemonade and opened the porcelain cookie jar shaped like a pumpkin, a painted face grinning in Halloween style. He fixed a plate of cookies and grabbed two other plates and napkins. He glanced out the window and watched Alfred putter around in the garden.

It was a beautiful day. After lessons, he would take Dick outside. The boy was a bundle of energy and needed to burn it off. 

Suddenly a glass of lemonade slipped out of his fingers and smashed on the linoleum.

“Damn,” he said softly.

He flexed his hand. Occasional loss of muscle control was part of his illness, but it still bothered him.

He cleaned up the glass, hissing as a shard cut his palm. Sighing, he washed the cut and wrapped the hand with a handkerchief.

Clark returned to the library. “Here you go.”

Dick smiled and immediately took several cookies and bit into one.

“Mmm, Alfred makes the best cookies.”

“He sure does.” Clark put several on his own plate.

“Clark?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to your hand?”

“Ah, I dropped a glass and it broke.”

Dick looked down pensively. “Master Bruce still hurts a lot about his parents, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Does it ever get better?” he whispered. 

Sadness swept over Clark. “I think you’ll always remember and it’ll still hurt, but the pain gets better as you go along.”

“I hope so.”

Clark silently echoed the sentiment.

& & & & & &

George Fontaine unsnapped the band of metal around Dick’s iron manacles and snapped the new bands on. He picked up his laser and expertly engraved the Wayne brand. The stylized letter ‘W’ was in the center of a large five-pointed star, surrounded by five other stars set in a circle.

Dick remained motionless, watching the entire process in silence.

Clark sat next to him; Bruce standing with his arms crossed as he watched. Alfred was dusting but keeping an eye on things.

When the engraving was finished for manacles and collar, Bruce looked critically at the glittering gold bands. “Excellent job, George.”

George beamed. “Thank you, Lord Wayne.”

Bruce escorted the man out. Clark touched Dick lightly on the arm.

“You all right?”

Dick was staring at the brand. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Clark squeezed his arm. “Good.”

Bruce returned. “I need a work-out. Who’s with me?”

Dick bounced off the couch as Clark and Alfred smiled.

& & & & & &

As Clark prepared for bed, he remarked, “Dick seemed a little happier today.”

Bruce put his watch on the dresser. “That’s good. It’s still very soon as to a lessening of grief for him, but every little bit helps.” He frowned. “He did seem worried about blood being taken and uneasy with the physical, but that’s probably due to his illness.” He grasped Clark’s shoulder. “I appreciate you teaching him.”

Clark smiled and put his arms around Bruce. “He’s a delight to be with.” Worry crossed Clark’s features. “I haven’t been trained as a teacher, though.”

“Don’t worry.” Bruce kissed his lover’s nose. “I’m consulting with a prominent educator. She’ll give you guidelines to go by, and will be happy to help you as you go along.” Bruce suddenly frowned. “What happened to your hand?” The white bandage was stark against tanned skin.

“Just a cut.” Clark tried to pull his hand away.

“Clark…”

“I know you own my body, but please, it’s nothing!”

Surprised at Clark’s outburst, Bruce said quietly, “I didn’t want to see because of your being a financial asset, Clark, but because I care about you.”

Shame reddened Clark’s face. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Bruce closed Clark’s hand. “It’s all right. You’re entitled to get frustrated now and then.” He lifted Clark’s chin. “We have manuals for slaveowners and manuals for slaves, but none for those who love each other as well.”

A small smile curved Clark’s lips. “We never do things easy, do we?”

Bruce chuckled. “No.” He caressed the back of Clark’s hand. “May I see your hand?”

“Yes,” Clark whispered.

Bruce opened the hand and peeled back the bandage, frowning slightly. “How did this happen?”

“I broke a glass.”

Bruce replaced the bandage. “If it doesn’t heal correctly, let me know.”

“Yes, Master.”

Bruce cupped his chin again. “Not as a Master this time.”

Clark smiled and they kissed.

As Clark went into the bathroom, Bruce spread out the quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed. When Clark came out, the slave disrobed and climbed into bed naked.

“If you get cold, you can light the fireplace.”

“I’m fine, Bruce. It’s not winter anymore.”

“Yes, but spring nights up here on the cliff and by the ocean can get cold.”

Clark laughed. “Yes, Master.”

Bruce smirked and slapped Clark’s buttocks. “Go to sleep, wiseguy. You’ll need your rest.”

“Is that a promise?” Clark’s eyes sparkled.

Bruce huffed, “Incorrigible.”

“Good hunting.”

Bruce kissed his lover and left the room still smiling.

& & & & & &

_Shadows swirled around, misty-cool on his skin as he stumbled around, darkness cloaking the forest. His shoes crunched on dead leaves and pine needles, wind whispering mournfully through the trees._

_He shivered, moonlight sparkling on his bracelets and collar, a full moon looming large in the sky. He increased his pace, a growing sense of foreboding blossoming through him._

_“Bruce,” he whispered, trying to find a way out of the woods and back to the Manor._

_Murmurs of voices were borne on the wind, Clark unsure if they were voices or the wind. He felt lightheaded as he began to run, a sense of urgency pushing him onward._

_He crashed through underbrush, branches tearing at his clothes and skin. Through the trees he could see the ocean, sparkling as the moon shone down._

_Blood pounded in his ears as he thought he heard footsteps behind him. The voices were indistinct, then snatches were heard…_

_“Lost everything…”_

_“Jewel Mountains shattered…”_

_“Help us!”_

_“Kal-El, you’re our only hope!”_

_A twig snapped behind him as he reached the edge of the woods, the Manor several yards away._

_**Safety!** _

_As he was about to step toward the Manor, he was suddenly whirled around and he screamed as green dust sprinkled down on him, burning his skin while laughter echoed around him…_

& & & & & &

Clark sat bolt upright, heart pounding as he clutched at the sheets, scraping at his arms frantically.

He heard a scream. It wasn’t him?

He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his robe. Dick’s room!

He burst into the bedroom, Dick sitting up and shaking. Tears ran down his cheeks as Clark hurried to the bed.

“It’s all right, I’m here,” Clark crooned, holding the small body as he rocked back and forth. He smoothed Dick’s hair and rubbed his back, letting the boy sob as he tried to comfort him. Eventually Dick’s sobs were reduced to sniffles and hiccups, and he pulled back, wiping his eyes. Clark gave him a tissue from the nightstand, his heart going out to Dick.

“Mom…Dad…they were falling…”

Clark swallowed. The memory of that night was burned into his brain as well.

“Dick…” he said softly.

Dick sniffled. “I’m sorry to get you up, Clark.”

“It’s okay. I was having a bad dream myself.”

“You…You were?”

Clark nodded, remnants of the dream still clinging to him. Dick reached out and took his hand.

“What was it about?”

Clark looked down. “The slavers were after me.”

Dick squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Clark looked up. “That’s over now. I’m safe here with Master Bruce.”

“Did they take you away from your parents?”

Clark took a deep breath. “I don’t remember how I fell into their hands.” At Dick’s puzzled look, Clark explained, “I had a head injury. I don’t remember anything before I woke up in the slavers’ camp.” 

Dick squeezed his hand again. Clark marveled at this child who was putting aside his own grief to console _him_. He gently caressed Dick’s hair.

“Let’s get you back under the covers.”

Clark pulled up the blankets and quilt on this chilly night. He rubbed Dick’s back as the boy curled up on his side, Dick eventually falling asleep. Clark placed a kiss on Dick’s hair, then quietly left the room.

Alfred was out in the hall. “How is he?”

“Sleeping. It was a nightmare about his parents, poor thing.”

Alfred nodded sadly. “With Master Bruce out, it’s good that you are comforting him.” 

“Go back to bed, Alfred. I think Dick will be fine the rest of the night.”

Alfred nodded, then looked at Clark keenly. “Are you all right?”

_How does he always know?_

Clark smiled slightly. “I’m fine, just tired. I better get some sleep before Bruce gets back.”

Alfred smiled, returning to his own room. Clark went to the master bedroom and slowly removed his robe.

That theme of being in the slavers’ hands was a recurring one, in many forms.

Clark slid into bed, the metal of his slave jewelry cold against his skin. He shivered as he pulled the covers over him.

Scenes flashed in his mind’s eye: waking up in a cage: naked, collared and manacled. Bewildered and nauseous from a raging headache, he had come to consciousness in hell.

Always thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. Dragged out of his cage and forced to his knees, later thrown back into his cage, mouth bloodied and torn, body bruised and aching, fear and shame his constant companions.

Clark burrowed further down into the covers, letting his sense of security wash over him as he breathed in the scent of his Beloved in the pillows and sheets, the Manor protecting those who dwelled within her.


	15. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Hal and Iris find themselves in the middle of a Hunt.

_“…a Hunt Decree shall be placed on the head of every Kryptonian, so ordered by the Galactic Empire until such time as it shall be lifted."_

  


**President Maxx Ardelle  
22—C.E. ******

Steve and Hal flew the ship to the docking port orbiting around Cestus III. They escorted their passengers out, Althor looking anxiously back at his ship.

“Welcome, Ambassador West, Lord Althor. I’m Bren Darl.” A sturdy, smiling man with a red ponytail and beard shook everyone’s hands except for Althor’s slave. He was a Norvad, a race of strong, smiling Warriors. “Follow me.”

The docking bay’s walls were scarred and dented, burn marks scorching the gray metal. The corridors were battered, ceiling lights flickering as they walked to the office area.

“Sorry for the condition of the space station. We haven’t fully recovered from the Collective attack we suffered some time ago.”

“We understand,” said Hal.

“We can offer you very limited quarters up here while my engineers check out your ship, Lord Althor.”

“I appreciate it, Tor Darl,” Althor said, using the Norvad word for ‘Mister’. “Of course you will be well-compensated for this by the Royal House of Jorelle.”

“It’ll be the Empire that sends the bill, m’lord,” Bren said cheerfully. “Now, you can also shuttle down to the surface where even though things are just as battered, you’ll have fresh air and larger quarters, because I have to tell you, repairs could take awhile.”

“We will consider that,” Althor said. “I will stay here, but Ambassador, you and the majors needn’t wait.”

“We still have to refuel, m’lord,” Hal said. 

“All right then,” said Bren. “Here are your quarters.”

The small set of rooms were cramped and nearly bare of amenities. After using the bathroom, Steve wandered out to the common room. The other rooms were connected to this hub, and Steve was restless. He didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling, and walked down to the command center.

A burly, disheveled, bearded man was watching a monitor. Steve saw a landspeeder zipping over the rocky terrain. 

_“Whoo hoo!”_ crackled a voice over the comm unit. _“Got one over by them rocks!”_

“Make sure you collect the body, or the Bounty won’t be paid out.”

_“Hey, I’ve done Hunts before. Don’t worry.”_

The burly man barked out his laughter. Steve judged him to be another Norvad, but this man was not the jovial type like the redhead. 

Steve saw a laser beam flash out and a boulder crumble. A flash of color flashed through the rocks. The prey?

The Norvad turned and frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Just wandering.”

A gap-toothed grin split the broad face. “We’re refuelin’ your ship. It’ll take several hours.”

“We’re all right with that.”

_“Whoo hoo!”_

The Norvad turned back to the monitor. “Careful, boy-o. You don’t want to get vaporized by the prey!”

_“These Kryps don’t have weapons. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”_

“Wow, running down unarmed people takes real skill.” Steve’s sarcasm was heavy.

The Norvad guffawed. “When the Empire puts a Hunt Decree on ya, you’re toast.”

Steve felt his stomach clench as he watched the landspeeder maneuver through a canyon. The pilot was uncanny in the way he handled his craft.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He recognized Hal’s touch and relaxed into it.

“So, a Hunt in action?” Hal asked.

“Mmm.”

_“Dang! I thought I had ‘er!”_

“Sounds like a female victim,” Hal murmured.

Steve felt sick to his stomach, then an idea hit him. “Um, Tor…”

“Lon Rapp. And it’s Major, like you. Bren, too.”

“Major Rapp, where is Bren Darl?”

Rapp waved a hand vaguely in a westerly direction. “Lookin’ at the fancypants’ ship.”

“Thanks.”

Steve tugged Hal out of the command center. “I want to go down to the surface.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

“With my life,” Hal said with a twinkle.

They found the redhead in the landing bay, discussing repairs with his Chief Engineer.

“Oh, hello, gentlemen. Your refueling is going well.”

“Excellent, Tor Darl,” Steve said.

“Call me ‘Bren’.”

“Okay, Bren.” Steve smiled warmly. “Hal and I want to go planetside.”

“Surely. I know you won’t be needin’ a pilot.”

Steve laughed. “That’s right.”

“This way, gentlemen.”

“Hal! Steve!” Iris hurried up to them. “I want to go, too!”

“Aren’t you entertaining Lord Althor?” Hal asked.

Iris smirked. “Believe me, Lord Althor is being entertained quite nicely by his Je’zel.” 

The two men exchanged grins.

“Okay, Iris, let’s go,” Hal said, guiding her to the shuttle.

Once they were airborne, Iris shuddered. “I stopped at the command center. I hate these damned Hunts.”

“This particular Hunter seems a little too enamored of his work, yes,” Hal said wryly.

“He’s scum,” said Steve bluntly. “These Bounty Hunters are ruthless, cold-hearted bastards. Big, courageous guys chasing unarmed men and women.”

“We can’t interfere with a Hunt,” Iris said worriedly.

“We won’t. At least, no one will think we have.”

Hal smiled slyly. “What have you got up your sleeve, Stevie?”

“Just this.”

& & & & & &

Bren entered the command center, contempt curling his lip. “Did Drex make his collar yet?”

“Skeevy little Rigellian is a helluva pilot, but his quarry is elusive.”

“Is he even sure it’s a Kryptonian?”

“He must be. Govs don’t like murder, at least by private citizens, so he’d better be right.”

“Funny how an Empire-sanctioned killing is okay, but it’s murder if it’s not.”

“The ol’ Gov ace-in-the-hole.”

Bren agreed with Lon on that point. He frowned as he listened to Drex Rattan’s chatter. Some people just loved to Hunt.

He initiated a scan of the surface below.

“Why aren’t you joining him?”

Lon grinned, the gaps between his teeth showing. “Hey, I’m on duty, man.” He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t go for unarmed prey. I like a fair fight.”

“So why are you watching?”

“I like to see his piloting skill.”

“Well, he’s got plenty of that.” Bren frowned at a reading. “Did you know there’s a ship on the planet?”

“Where?”

Bren rattled off the coordinates and Lon came over to look. “That never registered.”

Bren slapped the monitor. “This equipment’s been off since the Collective attack.”

“We’d better get to work identifying it.”

& & & & & &

Steve, Hal and Iris stepped into the courtyard of the small set of outbuildings. Pre-fab and gunmetal-gray, it was a typical construct of the Empire. Iris had changed to more practical clothing: pants, boots, and a short-sleeved shirt. She wore no jewelry except her watch. Kicking at a pile of rubble, she said, “I wonder if this place will ever be repaired.”

“Eventually it will,” Hal replied. “But your grandkids might be the beneficiaries.”

Steve snorted. “We should search this place, then head out to the ship.”

“Agreed.” Hal checked his phaser.

The search did not take long. They found no refugees that might be targets of an eager Bounty Hunter. Taking a swig from his water bottle, Steve said, “Ready for a little hike?”

The sun was warm but not uncomfortable as they walked the two miles to the ship they had seen from the sky.

It was a nondescript vessel with Gemonese markings.

“Of course there wouldn’t be Kryptonian markings,” Iris said.

“I wonder how many people landed?” Steve touched the smooth metal.

“At least one, of course.” Hal shaded his eyes to look at the surrounding landscape. “I hope it’s only one.”

“I’ve read reports on the Kryptonians,” Iris said. “They’re scattered all over the galaxy in small groups. They can pass for other races, such as Human, and have blended in, keeping themselves out of harm’s way.”

“Do all the refugees blend in?”

“No. Some prefer a nomadic existence. Others believe their day is coming, especially if Kal-El comes to lead them.”

“Kal-El?”

“Only son of Jor-El and Lara of the House of El, the Kryptonians’ Ruling House. Some consider him a messianic savior.”

“Tall order.”

“Absolutely.”

“So why hasn’t he put in an appearance?” Steve asked.

“It’s possible he never survived Krypton exploding, though some say he was placed in a rocket to escape the Great Destruction.”

“How old was he?”

“Just a baby.”

“Ouch,” Hal said.

“A baby?” Steve was saddened. “I hope he did survive. Too many babies didn’t make it.”

Iris noticed the look of pure love that Hal gave Steve. She smiled.

“So, we should set the plan in motion,” Hal said.

“Let’s.” Steve grinned.

& & & & & &

Bren put down his datapad. “Gemonese markings.”

“The Kryptonian is obviously trying to pass.”

“I wonder why she stopped here?”

“I don’t know.”

Bren grimaced. “She’ll probably have no chance to tell us.”

Lon silently agreed.

& & & & & &

Steve and Hal piloted the shuttle to the quadrant where Drex Rattan was Hunting.

“There,” Hal said, pointing to Drex’s landspeeder.

The landspeeder was docked on the hard ground, the pilot sprinting to the rocky outcropping were his ‘speeder could not go. The Rigellian carried a powerful laser rifle.

Hal and Steve landed the shuttle a half-mile away. While Iris stayed with the shuttle, the men stealthily made their way to the ‘speeder, their own phasers drawn.

Iris paced back and forth in front of the shuttle, occasionally glancing at the direction in which Hal and Steve had gone.

Half an hour later, the duo re-appeared.

“Let’s go!” Hal sprinted toward the shuttle.

They took off, hovering in the air. A small, swift figure emerged from the outcropping, raced off toward the Gemonese ship, and climbed aboard. 

Drex Rattan was in hot pursuit…until his landspeeder wouldn’t start. Cursing, he started a systems check while the Gemonese ship took off, climbing high into the atmosphere.

Hal and Steve piloted the shuttle back to the space station.

& & & & & &

“Ship leaving Cestus III orbit, sir,” said Lon.

“Really?”

Lon grinned. “Actually, I was mistaken.”

Bren smiled. “Let’s get the _Javelin_ repaired quickly, eh?”

Lon nodded and contacted the Chief Engineer as Bren watched the Gemonese ship head far away from Cestus III.


	16. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman helps break a smuggling ring while Dick conquers his fears about the trapeze.

_"Slave smuggling is a serious business. Millions of dollars of valuable property are lost to these thieves, who make a tidy profit in illegal trafficking."_

  


**Harvey Dent  
Gotham District Attorney   
22—C.E.**

Batman trailed the beat-up, nondescript truck through the streets of Gotham, keeping to the rooftops. The truck was on a leisurely pace, so it was easy to keep up.

As Batman shadowed the vehicle, one part of his mind drifted to thoughts of how well Dick’s lessons were going. Clark reported that the boy was extremely bright, something that Bruce had observed but it was good to hear that the boy was academically-smart. Bruce liked to be surrounded by intelligent people, whether slave or free. 

The truck turned into an alley in the warehouse district, parking behind a door. The driver got out and sauntered to it, knocking quickly. The door opened and the driver slipped inside.

Batman followed, spent a few minutes on the lock, then entered the warehouse.

He used his Bat-stealth, hearing the murmur of voices, creeping closer to their source. 

In a wide-open area of the warehouse were a dozen cages, all filled with slaves. A group of men were arguing over when to move the merchandise.

“Some are set for private sale, but others are going on the public block,” said a gray-haired man in jeans and windbreaker.

“We have to move the goods before the cops find out.” The driver’s stance was casual but steel underlined his voice.

“No one’s found us yet.”

The driver snorted. “This is Bat-territory. We don’t want to push our luck. In fact, we should pull out of Star City, too. The Archer and his Pretty Bird are too nosy. We should set up in Metropolis. No capes there.”

The gray-haired man laughed sardonically. “I doubt the Boss is going to run.” 

The driver shrugged. “Suit yourself. The odds get better outta this city.”

“Let’s deal with this shipment first.”

The driver looked over the slaves. “Good batch. Your contacts sure know how to snatch quality.”

“They’ll fetch high prices.”

The driver nodded to the burly men waiting for instructions. They started opening the cages and dragging the slaves out.

Batman pressed a button on a wristband he wore, then prepared to pounce.

The slaves were chained together in groups, the men working quickly and efficiently with only a gripe or two.

Police burst into the warehouse, Jim Gordon leading the charge. Batman did his part as he swooped down, battering the henchmen as the slaves scattered. It didn’t take long to corral the gang, the driver disgusted as they were all handcuffed. 

“I told these idiots Gotham was bad news,” he grumbled.

“Good bust, Commissioner,” said Batman.

“You gave us the location.” Jim holstered his gun as he took a sheaf of papers from a young officer. “Looks like another slave-smuggling ring is broken.”

“Will you be able to get the slaves back to their rightful owners?”

“We should.” Jim ruffled through the papers. “These slaves were going to be sold to brothels or private owners willing to take stolen goods.” Jim frowned. “Odd.”

“What is it?”

“Six of these slaves were slated for the public block. That would be too risky as the slaves could say they’d been stolen and who their rightful owners were.” 

Batman turned to the driver. “Why were some slaves being held for public auction?”

The driver shrugged. “Beats me. I just cart the merchandise. I don’t decide on buyers.”

Batman looked at the gray-haired man. “What do you know about this?”

“I’m not speaking without a lawyer.”

“What’s the big secret? Simply tell us and it’ll go easier on you.”

Snort of laughter. “I’ll talk to my lawyer.” 

Jim shrugged. “It’s probably nothing important, but we’ll find out eventually.” A gleam lit his blue eyes. “The citizenry, especially the elite citizenry, doesn’t take kindly to valuable property being stolen.”

Batman nodded. “Keep me informed?”

“I’ll do that.”

Batman slipped into the shadows, eager to get back home to Clark.

& & & & & &

Pure joy rushed through Dick’s veins. He flew through the air under the watchful eyes of his Master and Clark. There was nothing like working the trapeze. It was freedom; it was joy; it was heaven.

He did a somersault, catching the bar and flying off to perform a double loop, catching another bar. He alighted on the platform, grinning as he called over to Bruce and Clark on the opposite platform, “Easy as pie!”

“Easy as Alfred’s apple pie?” asked Clark with a twinkle.

Dick laughed. “Not as tasty!”

Bruce swung out on a bar. “Come to me.”

Dick braced himself, swinging out, then doing a single flip and easily catching Bruce’s hands.

“Excellent.” Bruce swung back onto the platform and Dick followed. “Clark, out.”

Clark swung out and Bruce followed, performing a routine that showed long practice.

Dick watched with an expert eye. Both men were naturally graceful, Bruce more cat-like, Clark more solid, but it was Clark who looked more comfortable in the air. His instincts were even better than Bruce’s, and Bruce was very, very good.

A few days after the funeral, Dick had been reluctant to fly again, the memories strong and overwhelming of horror, and his Master had assured him that he could take his time as to when to fly.

The next day, Dick had climbed the trapeze…

& & & & & &

 _Dick’s limbs trembled as he climbed the spikes, heart pounding as he reached the platform. He stared down at the netting, trying to keep the images of broken bodies twisted on sawdust out of his mind. He grabbed the bar with ice-cold fingers and took a deep breath, setting his jaw._

_He swung out._

_Out, over the ground, high up in the air, unfettered by gravity._

_He survived._

& & & & & &

“So, how did we do?”

Dick blinked, then realized that Bruce had spoken to him. “Oh, very well. The technique is really good for both of you.”

Clark beamed. Dick was glad that he could give genuine words of praise. 

“Should I be pushing off stronger?”

And that was his Master, never satisfied.

“You could, but you have to see if it disrupts your sense of balance.”

As Dick talked, he noticed Bruce’s intensity while Clark listened just as attentively but with a more relaxed body posture. Dick would never tire of watching these two. 

“Okay, get showered, Dick. Alfred needs your help with the laundry,” Bruce said.

Dick nodded and scurried down the pole.

& & & & & &

At lunch, Bruce was smiling. “I got a call from Dinah Lance today. She’s opening her flower shop in Gotham and invited us over to the Grand Opening. Also, Alfred, I invited Dinah and Ollie to stay with us.”

“Very good, sir. Will that include sojourns into the city on a regular basis?”

“Hmm, probably so.”

Dick noticed an exchange of glances between Clark and their Master. Curious, he wondered if there was something odd about these future visitors.

& & & & & &

Bruce sent Dick off to bed, noticing the boy fighting to keep his eyes open. After Dick had left the room, Clark snuggled up to Bruce.

“Are the sojourns going to include Green Arrow and Black Canary?”

Bruce laughed. “I think you’d be right.”

“Good.” Clark nuzzled Bruce’s neck. “I worry about you out there alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You need a partner.”

“Clark…”

“Not me, I know. My illness prevents me from being reliable. But you should have someone, Bruce. Green Arrow and Black Canary are partnered and the Hawks from Thanagar are, too.”

“Flash doesn’t have a partner.”

“He’s got super-speed,” Clark placed his hand over Bruce’s heart. “As incredible as you are, my love, you don’t have superpowers.”

Bruce stroked Clark’s soft hair. “That’s true.” He kissed the silken locks. “But I’ve been at this awhile, Clark. Don’t worry so much.”

Clark pouted. “I’ll always worry.”

Warmth spread through Bruce, Clark’s concern touching. He wrapped his arms around his lover and held him tight.


	17. Birds Of A Feather (Not Quite)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah and Ollie come for a visit at Wayne Manor as she opens her new flower shop in Gotham. Night work is also on the itinerary.

_The Pretty Bird sings  
Her Canary Cry,  
The Pretty Bird brings  
Her Canary Eye._

  


**Marion Zimmer Grayson  
"Tales of the Starchild"   
2106 C.E. ******

Dinah appreciated the architecture of Gotham Union Station. She and Ollie carried small suitcases, their scheduled time in the city only two days.

Sunlight streamed in through the skylights, creating rainbow-colored patterns on the marble floor and walls. She smelled roasted coffee from the coffee shop and fresh pastries in a kiosk. Travelers flowed through the Art Deco building, and Dinah performed one of her favorite pastimes: people-watching.

In Dinah’s opinion, a crimefighter needed to understand more than just criminal psychology. Normal Human psychology was the key. It was all well and good to accentuate the abnormal, but in her experience, most crimes were committed by ordinary people driven by desperation, passion or greed. 

“There’s Bruce,” Ollie said.

Dinah saw the handsome brunette standing by the entrance. Bruce Wayne was always regal, a man accustomed to being the center of attention, not to mention expectations of obedience, and not always just from his servants. Ollie had the same air about him, his family as old and monied as Bruce’s, but the Prince of Gotham was a far more brooding figure than her lover.

She had nothing against dark and broody, but she preferred Ollie’s lighter noblesse oblige. Bruce always struck her as carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Dinah, lovely to see you again,” Bruce said, taking her hand.

“Nice to see you, too, Bruce.” She lightly kissed his cheek.

Ollie and Bruce shook hands.

“You’ll have to come to Queens’ Castle soon. I seem to be always taking advantage of your hospitality.”

“Nonsense,” Bruce said with a smile. “I enjoy the company, especially of fellow nighthawks.”

All three grinned. Dinah said, “Ollie and I are eager to help.”

As they began walking to the limousine, Bruce said, “Just a note: Dick is unaware of my…nocturnal pursuits…right now, though my Prize is in the know.”

“Yes, Ollie told me.”

“And will you be joining me this evening?”

Dinah and Ollie grinned as they understood the nature of the invitation.

After settling into the limousine, they drove through Gotham, Dinah saying, “Look! There’s the shop!” 

Sherwood Florist was a smart little shop, fresh paint applied and the windows sparkling. Pride shone in Dinah’s face, and Ollie squeezed her hand.

They stopped for a quick tour, Dinah pleased at the set-up, and she talked about her business plan as they headed onward to the Manor.

& & & & & &

Alfred greeted them with his usual impeccable hospitality, and Dinah was happy to be placed in the room opposite Bruce’s. She loved the elegant touches in this room, especially the rich, sapphire-blue drapes at the windows.

Once they were settled, she and Ollie joined Bruce in the library. Bruce’s Prize and Squire appeared minutes later.

“Dinah, Ollie, my Squire is here to serve you.”

The smiling boy acknowledged the guests, Dinah astonished at the intensity of his smile. The poor boy had been in the throes of grief when she had last seen him. Even now he was subdued with that fresh sorrow but his smile had been like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds.

“And so is Clark,” Bruce said.

Dinah immediately understood the honor given, being told Clark’s name, and her eyes sparkled. As Clark lowered his head, Dinah said, “I’m pleased, Bruce. Such beautiful, sparkling members of your Household.” She saw both slaves smile.

Bruce was also pleased. He said softly, “Refreshments, please.”

His slaves nodded and left the room.

“Exquisite, Bruce.”

“Thank you.”

Clark brought in the refreshments, shy around Dinah but smiling to answer her smile. She saw Bruce’s look of pride.

& & & & & &

Lunch was fresh turkey sandwiches with a side dish of garden salad, the baby corn, carrots and tomatoes crunchy and flavorful. Dinah spoke with her business representative in town via cellphone after the meal, looking forward to the meeting tomorrow.

Tonight was a different kind of business.

& & & & & &

Dinah loved pulling on her fishnets, ready for a night’s work. She adjusted her blond wig, Ollie applying his goatee and his own wig. He smiled at her.

“Ready to go hunting, Pretty Bird?”

“Ready, Archer.”

Ollie smiled.

& & & & & &

Dinah loved everything about the Batcave. While Bruce and Ollie plotted out the night’s itinerary, Clark gave Dinah the grand tour.

“Oh, man, this is quite the set-up.”

“Master Bruce and Alfred did a great job.”

“Yes, Alfred would have been a big part of this.”

“He’s amazing.”

She heard the affection in his voice and smiled.

“Bruce is pretty amazing, too. He’s pretty dedicated to the crimefighting thing. I always knew he was deep, but _this_ deep?”

“The Master indeed has many depths.”

Clark’s voice was once again laced with affection…and something more.

Dinah looked at him closely. His attention was on Bruce. His eyes were hidden, but his body posture and the curve of his lips…

Amused, she touched her black velvet choker, caressing the small ceramic canary she liked to wear as a good luck talisman.

& & & & & &

Gotham was very different from Star City. Then again, it was different from any other city, she thought wryly.

The cities were approximately the same age, but Gotham was far grittier and grimmer. While both cities sported very old architecture, Gotham specialized in gargoyles.

Also in psychos.

They crashed in on the Penguin in the middle of a robbery. The portly little man used his umbrella like a deadly weapon, and his henchmen held out for awhile, but talent usually won out in these matters.

“You’re done, Penguin!” Canary said, kicking the last of the hired hands into submission.

 _“Squawk, squawk!_ How can you cage a fellow bird, Canary?”

Black Canary laughed. “We’re not exactly birds of a feather, Penguin.”

The little man grunted. “You look good in the fishnets.”

“Thank you, Pengy,” Canary said brightly.

Penguin snorted. Green Arrow appeared. “Everything all right here?”

“Perfectly, G.A.”

Green Arrow nodded. He trusted his partner to tell him the truth.

The Batman appeared next, all swirling cape and grim visage. “Time for your birdcage, Penguin.”

“Bah! You’re no fun, Bat-brain! Not like the Pretty Bird, here.”

Black Canary smiled charmingly while Batman snapped the cuffs on the Penguin. As the police arrived and Batman talked with them, Green Arrow murmured, “What, you like short and fat now?”

Black Canary grinned. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled, dear,” she purred, stroking his arm.

Green Arrow smirked. 

As the police left with the captured criminals, Green Arrow snaked an arm around his partner’s waist and drew her to him.

“It’s all teamwork, baby.”

Black Canary laughed and kissed her partner.

“If you’re done necking…”

“Oh, lighten up, Bats,” Canary said cheerfully.

Batman snorted. He walked away with a grand sweep of cape, but Canary swore she saw a slight smile on his face.

& & & & & &

Dinah felt very comfortable as she snuggled on Ollie’s lap. The Batmobile only seated two comfortably, so Dinah had cheerfully volunteered to occupy her lover’s lap.

Ollie was happy with the arrangement, nuzzling his Pretty Bird as Bruce drove. The happy couple cooed and laughed and kissed until Bruce finally blurted, “Can’t you two wait until we get back?”

“Aw, c’mon, Bruce, just because your main squeeze is back at the Manor doesn’t mean we have to wait,” Ollie snickered.

Bruce gritted his teeth and speeded up the Batmobile, muttering, “Get a room.”

& & & & & &

Clark was pushing his chair away from the computer as the Batmobile roared into the cave. Bruce had asked him to do some research and Clark was ready to report.

As Dinah and Ollie giggled their way out of the Batmobile, Bruce swept out of the driver’s side and strode toward Clark.

“Master, I finished… _mmph!”_

Bruce swept Clark up into a deep kiss, Ollie wolf-whistling.

When they broke apart, Bruce growled, “Upstairs. Bed. _Now!”_

Breathless, Clark pulled his robe around himself tighter and nodded, hurrying up the stone steps.

“Looks like _you_ got a room,” quipped Ollie.

Bruce said nothing as he headed for the showers in a swirl of cape.

Ollie’s hand slipped up one fishnet-clad thigh of his partner. “When Bats is gone, how about we christen the hood of the Batmobile?” he whispered.

Dinah’s blue eyes sparkled.


	18. Birds Of A Feather (Not Quite? Oh, Just Right!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pretty Bird learns more about the future Little Bird when she takes him into town.

_The Pretty Bird knows  
The Little Bird’s joy,  
The Pretty Bird knows  
He’s a special little boy._

  


Marion Zimmer Grayson   
"Tales of the Starchild"   
2106 C.E.

Dinah awoke, luxuriating in the sensation of silk sheets on her bare skin. She liked the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and it was a nice contrast to the grittier life she led as Black Canary.

Ollie snored lightly beside her in the big, comfortable bed. She groaned at the numbers on the digital cock beside the bed. Damn her early meeting! She rubbed scratchy eyes.

She lay in bed for ten more minutes, then slipped out without disturbing Ollie. She padded to the bathroom at the end of the hall, showered, dressed and put on her make-up.

As she headed for the main staircase, the door to the master bedroom opened.

“Bruce! You’re early.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and closed the door quietly. “Good morning, Dinah.” He was endearingly mussed, clad in a black silk robe. “I need a favor.”

“Ask away, my Prince.”

Bruce smiled, running a hand through his hair. “Ollie and I need to…strategize. Would you mind taking Dick with you to town?” 

“I’d be delighted.”

Relieved, Bruce said, “Good. Alfred could keep him busy here but I’d like him to get off the estate. He needs a change of scenery.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Bruce.”

“Thank you, Dinah. I know you will.” Bruce lightly kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve a luv.”

Laughing, Dinah headed down to the kitchen.

In that sunny room, she was greeted by Alfred. “Good morning, Miss Lance. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Waffles, and strawberries if you have any, please.”

“Excellent. Please be seated.”

A few minutes later Dick appeared in jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. He hesitated when he saw Dinah.

“Please, sit,” she said cheerfully.

Dick obeyed, smiling as Alfred told him that waffles and strawberries were available. He shyly looked down at his plate, but looked up as Dinah spoke to him.

“I’m taking you with me into town for my meeting. I need you to take notes and to watch reactions for me.”

“Reactions?”

Dinah nodded as she sipped her cranberry juice. “Yes, sometimes a second pair of eyes can see things one person might miss. I need you to be a discreet observer.”

Dick looked intrigued. Dinah hid her smile as she took another sip of juice. This boy was bright, and would be useful. She had no problem taking care of him.

& & & & & &

Brendan drove them into town. He parked right outside of Sherwood Florist. A smiling brunette woman greeted them, wearing a squash-colored silk dress. Turquoise beads and a turquoise-and-silver bracelet attracted Dinah and Dick’s attention.

“They’re Navajo pieces,” said Miramee Teague, a slight musical lilt to her voice.

“How lovely,” said Dinah. Noticing Dick’s interest, she said, “Have you ever see jewelry like this before, Richard?”

Dick was pleased at the use of the more formal name, keeping his own name private.

“No, Mistress.” He studied the bracelet. “But as you say, it’s pretty work.”

“Come in, Ms. Lance. The store is looking wonderful for tomorrow’s Grand Opening.”

Dinah approved of the flower displays in the two large storefront windows, and was pleased at the interior arrangements. Tables and glass cases displayed floral wares, and she was glad that the yellow-painted walls made a cheerful background.

Miramee discussed the stock, Dinah inquiring about local plants.

“And here is our ceramics section.” Miramee led Dinah and Dick to an adjoining room filled with figurines, pottery, and cookware. Dinah noticed how much more had been done since her short visit last night.

“Ah, I see you have the art set up.” Dinah walked to a corner of the room that featured paintings, sculptures, and garden items.

“Yes, the local artists I contacted were delighted to fulfill the flower/garden theme.”

Dick took notes on some of the art, writing about the styles he saw. At eight years old, he wasn’t about to write a dissertation but Dinah noticed that he was able to write down the main features of each piece.

“I approve of the art.” Dinah was especially taken with a handpainted plate.

The yellow canary was very well done, attracting Dinah for obvious reasons. She picked it up and studied the bright colors.

“You like birds?” Dick asked softly.

Dinah smiled. “Very much.” She put the plate back and looked into bright, inquisitive eyes. “I have some finances to discuss with Miramee. Why don’t you stay here and enjoy the display?”

& & & & & &

When Dinah returned, she found Dick looking at a painting of a majestic hawk soaring over a valley.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dinah said softly.

Dick nodded.

“How about we got to the park to see the real thing, and then get some lunch?”

Dick smiled, Dinah pleased at the sunshine.

& & & & & &

Dinah and Dick did some birdwatching, the boy happy to be out in the fresh air. He was subdued at times, but Dinah chalked that up to a boy still trying to deal with his grief.

From this morning together, she had formed an opinion of Bruce’s young Squire. She saw a bright boy with that brightness applied to intelligence and personality. An obedient child, he radiated with energy when it wasn’t sublimated by his sadness.

Dinah was determined to try and make him forget his grief, at least for a little while. She knew that many freemen cared nothing for a slave’s grief, but she couldn’t take that attitude. Like with Melody, her own Squire, she felt the need to nurture and help, manacles or not.

Dick burned off some energy running around, returning to Dinah who was pleased to see his happiness.

“How about some lunch?”

“That sounds great, Mistress!”

Dinah chuckled and ruffled Dick’s hair as he beamed.

& & & & & &

Dinah had chosen an Italian restaurant. The smells of good Italian cooking wafted from the kitchen every time the door swung open.

“Would you like pizza or spaghetti or veal parmesan? Or anything else on the menu?”

Dick scanned the menu. “I’d like the ziti with roasted red pepper sauce.”

“No bland palate for you!”

Dick giggled. “You learn about all kinds of spicy food in the circus.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, Hungarian stew and jalapeno sauce and Romanian dishes.”

“Did everyone share recipes?”

“Yeah! Mom cooked vegetable soup that used red peppers, and she crushed them up and put them in our tomato sauce, too. And Dad grilled steak with jalapenos.”

“Mmm, spicy is right!”

Dick became subdued, sadness shadowing his eyes. “I…miss those meals.” He lowered his eyes.

_And his parents._

Dinah gently touched the little boy’s hand. “It’s okay, Dick.”

Dick wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She lifted his chin. “It’s okay to grieve.”

He sniffled and Dinah handed him a tissue. He wiped his eyes again and said softly, “Thank you.”

The waitress took their orders, and Dick smiled shakily after she left. “I need to teach Alfred some spicy recipes.”

Dinah laughed. “Alfred’s always up for new recipes.”

“Alfred’s great.”

“He is.” Dinah sipped her glass of icewater. “Sounds like you’re settling in at the Manor.”

“I am.” Dick smiled. “I like Alfred and Clark a lot. They’re really nice.”

“And your Master is good to you?”

Dinah watched Dick carefully. Most slaves usually shuttered their true feelings when talking to freemen about their Masters, and with good reason.

Dinah thought she saw a shade of wariness in the boy’s blue eyes, but he smiled again and said, “He’s very good to me, and to Alfred and Clark, too.”

“He’s a good man.” 

Dick nodded. “And the estate is wonderful! Master Bruce lets me roam all around, and he’s got a trapeze!”

Dinah noticed how Dick’s eyes lit up at mention of the trapeze. She laughed and said, “Keeps you in practice, eh?”

Dick nodded vigorously. “I’m a good flyer, Mistress Dinah. I’m not afraid up there.”

“Good.” If the boy wore a costume, he would fit right in with her and Green Arrow. “You should always keep your skills up. You never know when you might need them.”

Dick beamed.

Lunch arrived and Dinah felt relaxed. Dick was easy to be with, the Mistress/slave dynamic still there, but not as much of a barrier as she usually encountered.

“Your Grand Opening is tomorrow?” he asked as he drank his Coke.

“Yes.” Dinah’s cellphone rang. “Lance here. Oh, hello, Miramee. Yes, I can stop by the shop again. I’ll see you in an hour.” She flipped the phone shut. “We’ll stop at the shop on our way home.”

Dick nodded, concentrating on his ziti.

& & & & & &

Dinah was pleased at the new shipment of hothouse roses.

“These are beautiful, Miramee.”

“Aren’t they?” Miramee gave a sigh of happiness. “These will give the shop a real draw tomorrow.”

Dinah plucked out a yellow rose and handed it to Dick. Delighted, he took the gift and inhaled its scent deeply.

“Smells pretty.”

Dinah lightly caressed his hair. “I’m glad the old heirloom scents are making a comeback. A pretty flower without substance is beautiful to look at, but still empty without scent.”

Dicks’ eyes sparkled as he nodded.

“Dick, pick out a large bouquet of differently-colored roses. I wish to thank Bruce for his hospitality.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

As Dick happily set about his task, Dinah and Miramee wrapped up the details of the shipment. By the time they had finished, Dick had gathered an impressive bouquet of roses: yellow, green, red, white, pink, and blue. The green and blue roses had been bred in the last century.

“Mmm, a nice combination. Put them in a water container, will you, please, Miramee?”

“Certainly.”

Dick offered Dinah his datapad. “I have your notes, Mistress.”

“Thank you, dear. Hold on to them until we get home. I’ll read them there.”

Dick nodded, clutching his rose.

Miramee returned with the large container and a small vial of water.

“Here, dear, let’s put your rose in this vial.”

“Thank you.” Dick watched as Miramee put the rose into the water-filled vial.

Dinah was pleased at his sensitivity. It reminded her of her own Squire, and she felt a surge of protectiveness.

_This boy-o needs to be kept safe._

She put an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the limousine.


	19. Protectors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the Grand Opening for _Sherwood Florist_ , and Clark and Dick find there are protectors out there willing to help when they need it most.

_Protectors come  
In many forms:  
Friends,  
Loved ones,  
Enemies._

_Or maybe,  
Just people  
With goodness  
In their hearts._

  


  
Lana Sanderson  
"Love In All The  
Wrong Places"  
1963 C.E.

Dinah felt comfortable in front of the cameras. As the business reporters asked their questions and the society photographers snapped pictures, Dinah happily noted Bruce, Clark, and Dick in the audience. Ollie was off to the side, letting her have her time in the sun.

“I am ecstatic to open a new _Sherwood Florist_ here in Gotham.”

“Are you still planning on opening stories in Metropolis, Boston, and New York?”

“Yes, we’re working on plans for that.”

“Why did you choose Gotham for your first expansion out of Star City?”

“You know the old saying, ‘If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.’”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

& & & & & &

“She’s very good,” Bruce observed.

Clark nodded. “She’s very comfortable in front of a camera.”

Dick was filming the press conference, using the tiny camera that Ollie had given him.

Bruce and Clark exchanged amused glances over the budding photographer.

“I have to leave,” Bruce murmured.

Clark nodded. “We’ll see you later at home.”

“Of course.” Bruce’s eyes sparkled. He placed his hand on Clark’s arm, then on Dick’s shoulder. 

Brendan appeared and Bruce nodded, leaving his slaves at the edge of the crowd but in Ollie and Dinah’s care.

Clark’s hand replaced Bruce’s on Dick’s shoulder as the boy continued to film.

Dick was happy with his task, Clark smiling at the memory of the boy’s chatter about Dinah. Clark felt a great affection for Ollie Queen’s lady. He had become adept at discerning a freeman’s sincerity, and Dinah was not mocking them. Her concern and good treatment for them was genuine.

Clark found the press conference interesting. Not only was Dinah a consummate professional, but the reporters were asking insightful questions. The gossip columnists loved seeing Ollie there with Dinah. He always found the media fascinating, though he preferred ‘serious’ media to the gossipy kind.

With surprise, he noted Lex Luthor in the crowd. He hadn’t been aware that the billionaire was in town.

When the press conference was done, Dinah invited the reporters into the shop.

“Hey, watch it!”

Clark turned just as Dick was pushed to the ground.

& & & & & &

Lex was enjoying the press conference. He had come to Gotham on last-minute business late last night, and had wrapped it up over breakfast. He had seen the notice in the on-line edition of _The Gotham Gazette_ about the opening of _Sherwood Florist_ , and had come by to watch Dinah do her thing.

Now as everyone began filing into the shop, Lex hung back, hoping to keep a low profile for a little while longer.

“Hey, watch it!”

He turned at the sound of an angry voice.

“Stupid slave!” snarled a teenager. He was towering over a young boy who was sprawled out on the ground. Clark was only a few feet away and hurried over to the boy, dropping to his knees.

“Are you okay?” Clark asked softly.

The boy nodded.

_That must be Dick, Bruce’s new Squire._

Lex saw the teenager reach down to grab Dick and saw Clark’s muscles tense, ready to attack. Swiftly Lex went to the tableau.

“Hey, hands off these slaves!”

The teenager stopped with a frown. “What’s it to you, Baldy?”

Lex’s lip curled into a smile. “Do you know whose slaves you’re harassing?”

The boy looked at the brand engraved on Dick’s manacles and blanched.

“Now, take off before I tell my old friend Lord Wayne of your behavior.”

The teenager scowled but stomped away.

“Thank you, Mr. Luthor,” Clark said. He ruffled Dick’s hair and began to assume a submissive posture of gratitude. Already on his knees, he blushed slightly as he began to lower himself to kiss Lex’s shoes in the traditional gesture.

Lex enjoyed the sight of Clark on his knees before him, but he stopped the pleasure slave from completing the gesture by a hand on his shoulder.

“Up. And you, too, young Squire.”

Both slaves quickly obeyed. Lex lifted Clark’s chin. “You were going to defend the child by attacking that oaf, weren’t you?”

“I couldn’t let Dick be hurt. If it was just me…”

Lex almost sighed. “You do know how it would hurt Bruce to see you so savagely punished again?” He saw Dick glance anxiously at Clark. “Not to mention what it would do to you,” he added softly.

Despite the shielding glasses, Lex could have sworn he saw defiance.

“I’m sorry, m’lord, I can’t let any harm come to the boy.”

“As you couldn’t let it happen to Melody?”

Clark blushed a little.

Dick tugged at his sleeve. “Clark, you can’t disobey! I was wrong. I bumped that kid.” 

Clark gently rubbed Dick’s back. “I won’t let harm come to you,” he said softly.

“So you’d disobey Bruce?” Lex asked.

Clark looked at him. “I’d take my punishment.”

Lex did sigh this time. Bruce had expressed his worry that one area in which his treasured slave would disobey was this one. Clark would suffer his own humiliation, but he could not bear to see happen to others, especially the bright little boy standing next to them.

_So Bruce’s Prize has spirit._

Lex shook his head. “I suppose it’s partly Bruce’s fault.”

“Why?”

“Leaving you two unattended.”

“Mistress Dinah and Mr. Queen are here.”

“Yes!” Dick piped up.

Lex was amused by the fierce devotion of Bruce’s slaves to him. A little pang went through him. He would like to command such loyalty, slave or free.

“M’lord?”

“Yes?”

Clark had his arm around Dick’s shoulders.

“Would you be so kind as not to trouble Master Bruce with this incident?”

Lex’s first instinct was to refuse this request, but then he thought about it. Why worry Bruce? Slaves had to deal with incidents like this every day.

“All right.” Relief crossed two faces. “I do have to say, you will have to be more careful, Clark. You would hurt Bruce badly if you put yourself in a punishing situation.”

Clark lowered his head. Dick was looking anxious again.

“Now, join me in going to Dinah’s shop.”

“Yes, sir!” Dick chirped, taking Clark’s hand. Clark squeezed it, a small smile curving his lips.

& & & & & &

Lex accepted the teacup from Clark with a smile, the slave blushing slightly. Warm spring sunlight streamed in through the library windows. Dinah had invited him to dinner, and Lex was happy to say yes to the invitation.

Bruce was happy to see him, too, and now the three of them and Ollie were enjoying afternoon tea.

“Looks like you have a success on your hands,” Lex said.

“Thank you, dear.” Dinah sipped her Earl Grey tea. “We’ll see how it goes long-term.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Ollie said, stroking Dinah’s hair as he relaxed on the couch.

“Well, things go in cycles, but people always need flowers.”

“Need them?” Bruce asked amusedly.

“Yes,” Dinah said as Clark presented the tea tray, Bruce taking the teacup. He smiled his thanks, Clark smiling back. “Of course people _want_ flowers, but they _need_ them, too. Flowers help us celebrate weddings and send off our loved ones at funerals. Flowers are living things that remind us of Nature when we get too full of ourselves.”

“Poetic look at things,” Lex observed. He selected a cookie from the plate Clark held out, another smile passing between them, Clark’s body blocking the interaction from the others.

“That’s my sweetheart,” Ollie said. 

Dinah glanced at him coquettishly while Bruce and Lex laughed.

“So how’s that redevelopment project going in Star City?” Lex asked.

“Excellently, actually.” Ollie drank his tea. “Prosperity is all around us, but there are still poor people out there.”

“So you think this project will help the economy?”

Ollie nodded.

Dinah noticed Dick out in the hall. She left the library and said, “Darling, do you have your notes handy?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Meet me in the study.”

Dick nodded and scampered off. Dinah shook her head fondly.

“He is quite the dynamo, isn’t he?” Alfred dusted an endtable.

“Kinetic energy,” Dinah laughed. “Alfred, will you send Clark in with a plate of your divine cookies?”

“Certainly, Mistress Dinah.”

Dinah smiled as the butler went to the kitchen. She had heard the pleased tone in Alfred’s voice.

She went into the study. It never hurt to be aware of slaves’ feelings. Despite what some freemen thought, slaves were people, too.

Dick arrived with his notes and began animatedly reading them at Dinah’s request. Minutes later, Clark arrived with the cookies and a glass of buttermilk for Dick and lemonade for Dinah.

“Get yourself something to drink, Clark, and then come back.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Clark returned with a glass of apple cider and quietly listened to Dick’s report.

“Excellent, Dick. Now, you didn’t have a chance for your lessons today. Clark, will you conduct the lessons?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll go get the books.” Dick hopped up. “Oh…may I, Mistress?”

“You may,” Dinah said with a smile. 

Dick nearly ran out of the room.

Clark and Dinah exchanged grins.

“We’re still getting used to his bursts of energy.” Clark’s smile was dazzling.

Dinah blinked. The beauty of this slave was almost overwhelming. She wondered what color his eyes were.

Dick returned quickly and the lessons began. 

Dinah was impressed by both slaves. Clark had no formal training as a teacher (at least in his memory), and he seemed a natural.

Dick was an eager learner, extremely bright and able to pick up things quickly. She realized that he had already known how to read and write when he had come to the Wayne Household.

Melody, the little girl whom Clark had defended and Bruce had saved, was her little ray of sunshine now. Melody was a delightful Squire, anxious to please and eager to learn. She was excited to learn to read and write and was doing well. Dinah approved of her tutor, just as she approved of Dick’s teacher.

When the lessons finished, Dick left to put away his and Clark’s books and Dinah said, “He’s reading above his level.”

Clark nodded. “He’s a joy to teach.”

Dinah smiled. “He has a good teacher, too.”

Clark smiled shyly, Dinah absolutely delighted.

“So, lessons over?” Bruce asked as he entered the room.

“Yes, Master.”

“You have a fine teacher and student here, Bruce.”

“Dick is a bright boy, and Clark is an excellent choice of instructor.”

“I’d like to get a curriculum from you, Clark. I’m going to consult with Melody’s tutor and see if we can incorporate a few things.”

“I’d be delighted, m’lady.”

Bruce’s hand slid down to rest on Clark’s shoulder. “My Prize is at your service, Dinah.” 

“Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce’s hand cupped Clark’s chin, turning his head. “I want you to perform that grid search on the Cray tonight.”

“Yes, Master.”

Bruce gave him a final caress and left.

& & & & & &

After patrol, Dinah sat in bed with her knees drawn up, sheet partially covering her. Ollie was storing his costume in his suitcase.

“It was a good patrol tonight,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“I think the Bat might have come close to cracking a smile!”

“Uh huh.”

Ollie turned to look at his lover. “What’s up, Pretty Bird?”

“Bruce is in love with Clark.”

Ollie laughed. “What?” He ran fingers through his hair. “Now I’ll admit, Clark is in love with Bruce…”

“He is, and the reverse is true.”

Ollie put a knee on the bed, resting a hand on his thigh. “What makes you say that?”

“Observation.”

“And women’s intuition, I suppose.”

She grinned. “Whatever you call it, I know it.”

“Damnit,” Ollie said softly.

“I know.”

Ollie rubbed his face in frustration. “I suspected as much, but I was hoping that I was wrong.”

Sympathy shone in Dinah’s face. “I know,” she repeated. “But it is what it is. Bruce loves Clark and is risking a lot, but I’d bet he would say it’s worth it.”

“Clark’s worth it, all right.”

“We can help Bruce keep his secret.”

“Which one?” Ollie smirked.

Dinah laughed and held out her arms, the sheet slipping down to her waist. Ollie went into that embrace happily, kissing her as he lowered her to the bed.

Bruce had a beautiful pleasure slave, but Ollie suited her just fine.


	20. Perfect Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce enjoy some private time at the beach, then welcome Dick for a family outing.

_The sound of the sea  
Surrounds you and me.  
The sun and the sand,  
Burns like a brand._

_Brand of loving,  
Brand of joy,  
The sound of the sea  
Surrounds you and me._

  


Janice Greenleaf Whittier   
"Nature’s Gold And Other Poems"   
2007 C.E.

Bruce slung the beach towel over his shoulders. “Dick is studying this morning, Alfred, but send him down to the beach in two hours, will you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Clark appeared in the kitchen doorway, clad like Bruce in swim trunks and an unbuttoned shirt, sandals on his feet. He also carried a towel and was smiling.

“Let’s go,” Bruce said.

The walk to the beach was down a rocky incline, both careful of their footing. Bruce reached out and grasped Clark’s hand, both men smiling.

They settled their towels on the sand, discarding sandals and shirts and plunging into the sea.

The water was icy at first shock, but quickly settled to comfortable temperatures. Clark and Bruce laughed and played, splashing water at each other and then swimming with clean, powerful strokes in tandem.

When they emerged from the sea, Bruce was enthralled by the diamond sparkles on Clark’s bronzed skin. He always seemed to absorb sunlight, reflecting it back via the most dazzling smiles that Bruce had ever seen.

When they reached the towels, Bruce was all over Clark, who was just as eager to reciprocate. Bruce’s hands roamed smooth flesh, skittering over cold rainbow metal, hot mouths pressing together with urgency. 

Bruce broke away and looked at Clark, whose eyes were lust-filled, laced with love. Had they always been so eager, or had he never noticed, simply assuming that Clark merely cared for him as a pleasure slave, eager to perform his duties, albeit laced with affection?

Bruce was an excellent detective, but he was clueless as to human emotions.

He would have to fix that.

Clark stretched out on his towel, Bruce on top of him. Slick, wet bodies rubbed together, Bruce’s tongue slipping into Clark’s mouth.

Warm June sun beat down on their entwined bodies, fingers running through hair and groins pressing together.

Waves crashed on the beach, loud and rhythmic. Bruce clutched Clark’s hair, tilting his head back as he licked all the way down Clark’s throat and around the sparkling collar. 

Lovemaking with Clark was even more exciting now that both knew they were in love. Clark still took pride in serving Bruce in bed, but now it was laced with love.

Bruce never wanted to lose this feeling.

“Mmm, love you,” he breathed, nuzzling Clark’s jaw.

“I love you, too…Bruce.”

Clark was still always a little shy when he used Bruce’s name, especially in bed.

_Or in this case, on a beach towel._

Bruce smiled at his lover, Clark’s sapphire eyes shining as he happily nibbled on Bruce’s ear.

The sun burnished Clark’s skin, Bruce truly appreciative of the effect. He kissed his way down Clark’s stomach and chest, licking the long column of flesh jutting up from dark curls. Clark moaned and writhed as Bruce loved him.

Clark’s mixture of innocence and wantonness always set Bruce afire. He licked faster, like a starving man with an ice cream cone.

When he swallowed Clark, his lover moaned and bucked, Bruce excited at Clark’s reaction. 

“Bruuuce…”

Clark’s moans and fingers tangled in his Master’s hair egged Bruce on. He tasted salty-sweet and delicious and what Bruce treasured.

_I love you._

Clark’s moan tore through Bruce, who sensed Clark close to the brink…

…of heaven.

Bruce swallowed Clark’s cum, fingers digging into the other man’s thighs. He released the softening cock and licked his lips.

“Mmm,” he purred. “Tasty as always.”

Clark blushed but reached out a hand to capture Bruce’s cock. His eyes sparkled as he said, “Let me take care of you, Master.”

“Of course, my Prize.”

Clark laughed, happiness shining in his eyes. He stroked skillfully, Bruce hissing with pleasure, his body responding to Clark’s deft touch. He fountained into Clark’s hand, slipping down to wrap himself around Clark.

& & & & & &

“Master! Clark!”

Bruce waved from the surf, Clark swimming a short distance away. Dick dropped his beach towel and shirt on the sand and kicked off his sandals. He dove into the water, giving Bruce an excited hug.

“Thanks for inviting me!”

Bruce gently ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re very welcome, Dick.” He hugged back. “See if you can catch Clark.”

“Yeah!”

Dick dove in while Bruce laughed.

& & & & & &

Clark and Bruce settled on their towels, Bruce shaking water out of his hair. They were smiling as they watched Dick cavorting in the surf. They had played with him and Bruce had allowed him to continue swimming as he and Clark came out to sit on the beach. 

Dick’s inexhaustible energy was amusing to watch.

“He’s got a good technique,” Bruce said.

“He’s like a dolphin, all playful and smiling,” Clark laughed.

“A dolphin, eh?” Bruce entwined his fingers with Clark’s. “I like that.”

Clark brushed their joined hands again at Bruce’s thigh. He ducked his head shyly as Bruce smiled at him.

Bruce liked the combination of shyness and boldness Clark would occasionally exhibit. His slave was more confident, and that heightened sense had been in evidence since Bruce’s declaration of love last fall. Clark felt more secure now, believing that Bruce loved him and would never send him away.

Bruce stroked Clark’s thigh, enjoying the quiver of his lover’s leg. His skin was so golden and smooth, matching the brilliance of the sun and sand.

_Clark was made for this bright day._

Clark’s beautiful blue eyes were hidden by his dark glasses. He needed the glasses for his light-sensitive eyes, and Bruce wished he could see the hidden gems. They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

Clark was watching Dick splashing in the water. “He’s putting on a show.”

“Hmm?”

“Dick.” Clark pointed toward the surf. “He’s performing for us.”

Bruce peered out at the ocean. “You’re right.” Amusement laced his voice.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“When will you tell him?”

Bruce watched the laughing boy ride the waves. “Soon, I think.”

Clark nodded his approval.

Once more amused, Bruce lazily stroked Clark’s sun-warmed back. His companion had a soft spot for Dick, already loving the boy as if he had known him all of his life.

Bruce felt the same way. Dick had come into their lives through tragedy, but was now a brightness in the Household. Bruce needed to maintain firm discipline, but he loved to indulge the boy as much as he could.

He was very lucky indeed to have two bright presences in his life.

Clark turned his head and smiled, Bruce leaning in for a kiss.

“Hey! Mushy stuff!”

Clark and Bruce broke apart, laughing. Dick was grinning as he scampered across the sand.

“Want me to disappear?”

“Never,” Clark said with a smile, and Bruce winked at Dick.

It was truly a perfect day.


	21. Quality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slave-smuggling makes Bruce feel even more protective of his Household while Clark takes care of him.

_Body and soul,  
Part and whole,   
I am yours._

  


**Jewel  
(King Jameson’s Prize)   
"Jewel Of Great Price"   
1621 C.E.**

Green Arrow and Black Canary flew after the fleeing duo under the Star City moon. The Archer let fly a smoke arrow and the Canary employed a low level of her Cry, the two men staggering to the ground. Both heroes jumped down and collared them.

“So, Blackie,” said Green Arrow with a predatory smile, “gonna sing like the Canary?”

The middle-aged man stuttered, “N…No. I m…mean yes!”

“Good. Darlin’, what have you got there?”

“Some woozy gentleman.”

“Gentleman? You’re too kind.”

The couple hauled up their catch. Blackie whined, “C’mon, Arrow, I got nothin’ for you.”

“Au contraire, Blackie.” Green Arrow poked his captive’s chest. “You’ve involved with that smuggling ring.”

“That ring was busted weeks ago in Gotham.”

“That was one ring, yeah. Slave-smuggling is a lucrative business.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about the whore trade.”

“Aw, c’mon, Blackie.” Green Arrow nudged the crook playfully. “You and your buddy here are slave-stealers from way back.”

“Is that true, Junior?” Canary asked the younger thug.

The younger man stared at her with defiance but Green Arrow noticed the slight tremor in the kid’s hands. Excellent.

“C’mon, Handsome, give it up.” Canary winked.

Blackie muttered, “Keep yer mouth shut, kid.”

“Blackie, Blackie, Blackie.” Green Arrow shook his head. “Do you think that your boss cares if you’re hung out to dry?”

“He cares if I open my yap and rat him out.”

_I gotta give him that._

“Okay, boys, guess it’s time to call in the Batman.”

“Whoa, why does he need to get involved?”

“Because this ring stretches all the way to Gotham.”

“That was the ring that got busted.”

“What, another ring can’t pop up to take its place?”

“Look,” Blackie said nervously, “There’s no need for the Batman to get involved.”

“He won’t if you tell us what we need to know.”

Blackie licked his lips. “Lissen, Arrow, there’s nothin’ to tell.” He shrugged. “We snatch fancypants’ slaves and sell ‘em. End of story.”

“Really?” Black Canary said. “Then why are some scheduled for public auction?”

“We sell ‘em to brothels and private owners so they don’t yap.”

“But a consignment is slated for public auction,” she persisted. 

“I don’ know nothin’ about that.”

Green Arrow saw the younger man shift his feet. “What have you got to say, kid?” He stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

The kid’s brown eyes darted around. “Me?” He shrugged bony shoulders. “I got nothin’ to say.”

Green Arrow sidled up to him. “C’mon, you look like a bright kid. Why are some of the slaves going on the public block where they could squawk?”

The kid looked at Blackie, who frowned.

& & & & & &

Bruce shuffled the papers on his desk at Wayne Enterprises. Sunlight flooded into the expansive office, creating barred patterns on the dark-blue carpet.

He always enjoyed the view of the city, though admittedly he was more familiar with it at night.

He began typing on the keyboard. He could have voice-activated the computer but preferred to keep this silent, and he activated the chatroom software.

 __: M., what is your org.’s policy on underlegals?

: We keep an eye on certain situations but there are laws on the books that prohibit it.

: What about the illegal brothels?

: They **are** a problem. We try to monitor them as best as we can, but it’s a lurid business.

: Do you have any initiatives on the subject besides monitoring? Any public awareness programs?

: No. It’s a very touchy subject. People prefer it swept under the rug.

: I’d like to write you a check and see if you can start a program. Abusing slave children is illegal, but too many freemen ignore that law.

: Thank you, B. If the leadership won’t commit to this, I’ll return the money.

: Keep it. I’m sure you can use it.

: Again, thank you, B.

: I intend to do more. You’re in Metropolis next week. Can we meet?

: I’ll check my schedule and send you a date and time.

: Excellent.

Satisfied, Bruce signed off. Next he opened a window to his account and wrote out two on-line checks: one to the National Abolitionist Society, and one to Haly’s Circus.

The check to Haly had one string attached: use the money for operating expenses and make it unnecessary to prostitute any slaves.

Especially the use of underlegals as ‘warm-up acts’.

& & & & & &

“You look tired, Master.” Concern was strong in Clark’s voice.

“I am a little.” Bruce put his briefcase on the hall table, rubbing his temple.

“Come into the library. I’ll get you some tea.”

“That sounds heavenly.”

Bruce sat on the couch and soon Clark arrived with the tea.

“Up with your feet.”

With an indulgent smile, Bruce stretched out on the couch. While he drank his tea, Clark removed his shoes and socks and massaged his feet.

“Mmm, you spoil me, my love.”

Clark smiled. “You’re easy to spoil, Bruce.” His eyes shone with love. “You take luxuries for granted, yet you deny yourself so much.” 

Bruce wiggled his toes. “I never deny myself you.”

Clark laughed softly and gently wrapped his hand around a warm foot, his thumb stroking up and down. “’Body and soul, part and whole, I am yours.’”

Bruce tingled at the recitation of the ancient poem. Written by one of the most famous pleasure slaves in history, it was used by those practicing the craft in artful ways.

Except that Clark was also speaking as a lover as well as a slave.

Bruce set aside his teacup and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Clark obeyed, sitting beside Bruce as their lips came together.

_Beep! Beep!_

Sighing, Bruce and Clark parted. Bruce flipped open his cellphone. “Bruce Wayne here.”

_“Hey, Brucester. Check your b-mail for a few interesting facts.”_

Bruce smirked. “Are you sending me dirty pictures, Ollie?” He entwined his fingers with Clark’s. “I have all the fantasies I need right here.” 

Clark smiled while Ollie’s laugh spilled out over the phone.

_“I just bet you do. But the mail is business.”_

“Okay, I’ll go and check it out. Thanks, Ollie, and say hello to Dinah for me.”

_“Will do. ‘Bye.”_

“’Bye.” Bruce snapped the cellphone shut and smiled in amusement. “To the Batcave!”

Clark laughed and followed Bruce to the grandfather clock.

Down in the Cave they headed straight for the computer.

“Computer on,” Bruce said.

It took a few minutes to get running, but then Bruce was checking his ‘b-mail’. This computer was safe from Government snooping.

“Hmm, a new twist to the smuggling ring in Star City, ” Bruce said. Clark looked at the screen from his chair next to Bruce. His head nearly touched Bruce’s, his eyes taking in all the data.

“The slaves slated for public auction are being given mindwipe drugs,” Clark said softly.

“Mmm.” Bruce was reading the chemical composition. “Computer…” he highlighted the relevant text “…print.”

Clark got up and went to the printer, bringing back the sheets of paper.

“So this isn’t common?” Clark re-seated himself while handing Bruce the print-outs.

“No.” Bruce studied the formula. “When smugglers steal slaves, they sell them off-world, usually to places where they don’t know the language and can’t alert anyone to their rightful ownership.”

“But I thought some were sold to brothels and private owners here on Earth.”

Bruce nodded. “Brothel owners can keep their slaves either drugged into haziness or no one cares that the slaves are stolen.” He kept his gaze on the print-outs. “Private owners would keep stolen slaves under a strict House Veil.”

“Why not give them the mindwipe drugs and not go through all that?”

Bruce kept his eyes on the print-outs. “Mindwipe drugs damage Human minds. This new batch must be either a new formula, or the thieves didn’t care about damage. Which isn’t good for their bottom line, so I’d say it’s a new formula.”

Clark touched the back of his head. Well, that lump he had upon awakening proved his amnesia had been delivered the old-fashioned way.

Silence filled the Cave except for an occasional skittering from above as Bruce studied and Clark remained quiet at his side.

“We’ll have to keep our eyes on this ring. From the looks of this list, they’re stealing…kidnapping…quality slaves.” 

Clark blushed as Bruce looked at him, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“We’ll have to take extra precautions whenever you or Alfred or Dick are off the estate.”

Clark nodded. Bruce felt a slight tremor in his slave’s hand. He lifted the hand up and brushed his lips over the knuckles, Clark relaxing. When Bruce spoke, his voice was very soft.

“I will protect you and Dick and Alfred with everything I have.” He leaned forward and whispered in Clark’s ear, “And I would make that pledge even if you were not manacled.”

Clark leaned into Bruce’s embrace. “I know,” he answered softly.


	22. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Dick’s friendship grows ever stronger.

_The clock ticks  
Loudly  
In the silence._

_The friends sit  
Without words,  
A smile passing  
Between them._

_They have no need  
Of raucous chatter._

_For these friends,  
Silence  
Is golden._

  


**Adelaide St. Veritas Millay  
"Yellow Roses   
(Poems Of Friendship)"   
1906 C.E. ******

Dick flipped through the pages of his textbook. He was sitting at the round corner table in the library, his customary spot for lessons, Clark in the other chair. Sunlight streamed in, warming Dick as he found the page Clark had requested.

“Clark, why don’t the history books tell us more about the Amazons?”

“The Amazons?” Clark asked in amusement.

“Yeah.” Dick jabbed the page. “The whole thing gets only a few lines.”

“Maybe they aren’t so proud of enslaving a proud warrior race.”

Dick looked at his friend and mentor. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“No.” A sad little smile crossed his face. “Though it doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?”

“It matters to me.”

Clark’s smile grew brighter. “That means a lot to me.”

Dick beamed. “I learned about the Amazons on-line but mostly in the books here.” He hopped off his chair and went to the bookcases, standing on his toes as he took down a heavy, leatherbound tome. He set it before Clark. “This is really old.”

“Mmm.” Clark opened the book, The Conquered Amazon Race. “It was published in 1869, six years after they were enslaved.” Clark turned the gilt-edged pages as he looked at the engravings. “They’re very beautiful and noble.” 

Dick pointed. “Look, that’s the Queen!”

The beautiful blond in full battle dress stared calmly out at the reader, a woman of grace and nobility.

“The Princess is on the next page.”

Clark turned the page. “She’s very beautiful, too.”

Dick nodded. “They show her armor, too.” He frowned. “The men from the Confederate ship tricked them.”

“They did.” Clark’s hand trembled slightly as he turned another page. “They’ve been enslaved for a very long time,” he said softly.

Dick felt a sadness wash over him as he looked at the sun sparkling off Clark’s rainbow bracelets. He took a deep breath and carefully set those feelings aside. As his parents had taught him, it did little good to dwell on their status. Until things changed (Dick had to believe they would someday), he had to keep going somehow.

Dick resettled himself in his chair. He noticed how pale Clark looked in the sunlight, or maybe it was a trick of the light. Clark had a lot of sunshine in him that Dick recognized as a kindred spirit.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?”

“Sorry I went off in another direction.”

Clark looked at Dick and smiled. “Sorry I got distracted. Let’s get to work.”

The lesson went smoothly for the next hour, then as Dick worked on an assignment Clark asked, “Would you like a snack?”

“That’d be great!”

“Okay, you keep working. I’ll see what Alfred’s got stashed in the kitchen.”

“Cool,” Dick said with a smile.

Clark left the library, Dick concentrating on his handwriting. His mother had always said he had good handwriting, a rare skill in an electronic age.

He raised his head as he heard a noise in the hall. Some instinct propelled him out of his chair and out of the room.

“Clark!”

Dick rushed to Clark’s side, his teacher on his knees and slumped against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Dick clutched a trembling arm.

“Not feeling…so well…” Clark said faintly.

Frightened, Dick called, “Alfred! Please help! Clark’s sick!”

Alfred appeared in seconds, concern on his face. “Help me get him up.”

Dick assisted Alfred, Clark mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

“Hush.” Alfred gently squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Beads of sweat were on Clark’s white face, his eyes hazy.

It was slow and painful, but between the two of them, Alfred and Dick got Clark to the master bedroom and into bed. 

“How’s your head?” Alfred asked.

Clark winced. “Not so great.”

“I shall get you some aspirin.”

Clark closed his eyes as Dick sat on the bed, resting a hand on his friend’s chest. A slight smile curved Clark’s lips and he closed his hand around Dick’s small one, Dick noticing how cold it felt.

Alfred returned with the aspirin and helped Clark sit up to swallow it, Dick pouring him a glass of water from the bathroom tap.

“I’ll get you a pitcher of icewater,” Alfred said.

“Thank you.” Clark lay back down and looked at Dick with a rueful smile. “Sorry to interrupt your lesson.”

“It’s okay. I’ll finish that assignment later. Can…may…I stay awhile?”

“Clark?” Alfred asked.

“Yes,” Clark said softly.

Alfred nodded at Dick, who lifted his legs up and crossed them on the bed. He put his hand on Clark’s arm.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

Alfred left to get the water. Dick asked worriedly, “Do you have the flu or something?” 

“No, Wertham’s Disease.”

“Wertham’s…? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”

“It’s not the most common disease, but luckily not too obscure, either. I have a medicine that I take once a week for it.”

Dick could hear confusion in Clark’s voice. He quickly took hold of a cold hand and pulled up the quilt to join the blanket as covering for Clark. Dick made a mental note to look up the disease in one of his Master’s medical books that had belonged to Thomas Wayne.

“I…the day before my shot…when I get it…kinda woozy…nauseous…”

“Please don’t talk, Clark. Just rest.”

“All right,” Clark sighed, almost sinking into the mattress. He turned his head.

“Is the light bothering you?”

“Yes.”

Dick heard pain in Clark’s voice and quickly went to pull the drapes shut. He resumed his place on the bed, taking Clark’s hand again. 

The quiet lay in the room like soft velvet, Dick staying silent as he listened to the ticking of the grandfather clock out in the hall. He frowned slightly as he realized how warm Clark’s skin had become. Low-grade fever?

“Dick?”

“Yes?”

“Tell…tell me…stories about…the circus…”

“Sure.”

Dick set aside his sadness at the memories and concentrated on the happy feelings he got when he remembered. He told some funny stories, Clark even chuckling a little.

Dick felt better while talking. His worry over Clark was still there but not as scary if he kept up cheerful patter. Happiness amidst gloom had always been a trademark of his, just as a circus act performed a signature trick. 

Clark was quiet and Dick hoped he was helping him. 

“…and Marge was so furious with Nate that she threw him out of their trailer and he had to go begging for a cot for the night.” 

A small smile curved Clark’s lips. “I bet Nate never pulled that stunt again.”

Dick laughed. “He never did…” His voice trailed off.

“You miss the circus.”

“I…” Dick wiped away a sudden tear. “…I miss performing for an audience. I…miss all the excitement.” His voice trembled. “I miss my parents.”

Clark squeezed his hand and Dick felt bad. He was supposed to be cheering Clark up!

“I like it here, though. I like being close to the ocean, and I have my own room, and you and Alfred are great, and Master Bruce is good to me.”

“That’s good, Dick.”

Dick’s worry grew again. He didn’t like seeing Clark sick.

The door opened and Bruce strode in, gesturing for Dick to stay seated. Alfred was right behind him.

“Clark, I hear you’re a little under-the-weather.”

“A little.” Clark opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

“One o’clock.”

“You’re back early.” Clark frowned. “You…cut your business…short?”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed opposite Dick and placed his hand on Clark’s forehead. 

“When my companion is ill, I get concerned.” 

“Master, I…”

“Hush.” Bruce slipped his hand down to Clark’s cheek. “Are you nauseous?”

“A little.”

“How about some ginger ale?”

“Yes.” 

Alfred left immediately to get it.

“Glad you’re under this quilt. Dick, would you go to the closet and get the pillow there?”

Dick scrambled off the bed and retrieved the requested pillow. Alfred came back with a glass of ginger ale.

Bruce and Dick propped up Clark on the pillows, Clark trying to hide a wince.

“Headache?” Bruce asked.

“Mmm.”

Bruce held the glass while Clark drank, then handed it to Alfred.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes, please.”

Alfred went to refill the glass.

Worry shone from Bruce’s eyes, and that worried Dick. Were Clark’s spells always this bad?

Clark drank the fresh ginger ale and Bruce urged him to slide down and get some sleep. Bruce brushed the curl off Clark’s brow and kissed the flushed skin.

Rising, Bruce said quietly, “Let’s leave him to sleep.”

Dick gave one final squeeze of Clark’s hand and carefully slid off the bed, following Bruce out.

In the hall Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Thank you for caring for Clark.”

“It’s easy, Master.” Dick was troubled. “Does he get sick like this a lot?”

They started walking down the hall, Bruce’s hand still on his shoulder. “Not all the time. The day before his weekly shot he gets confused and dizzy, sometimes nauseous. Some weeks are better than others.”

“He says he takes medicine.”

Bruce nodded as they started down the stairs. “He gets it via injection. Tomorrow morning.” He gently ruffled Dick’s hair. “Go finish your lessons.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back in the library, Dick headed for the table, then stopped and went to the bookcase instead. He scanned the shelves and took down an old, leatherbound book.

He set the medical book on the pier table and checked the index, careful when he turned the brittle pages. He read for several minutes, then put the book back and returned to his studying.

& & & & & &

In the morning Bruce took the vial and hypospray from Alfred. He had held Clark all night, his lover restless, cold one minute, feverishly hot the next.

“You’ll feel better by tomorrow, Clark,” Bruce said.

“Master.”

Dick was standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Please show me how to do this.” Dick came forward, looking very small but determined, still dressed in his pajamas. “I…when I get a shot, it’s given to me. I need to know how to give one. In case I have to.”

Bruce looked at his young Squire, then nodded. He pushed up Clark’s pajama sleeve and placed the hypospray over a vein. “Position, then push.” The hiss of the hypo was soft, Clark watching with clouded eyes.

“How do you fill it?”

Bruce demonstrated and Dick nodded. “Good morning, Clark.” Dick carefully hugged his friend, who despite his grogginess, smiled and hugged back.

“Get some sleep, Clark,” Bruce said.

Dick left to get dressed and Bruce smiled. 

“I think it’s time to tell our secret, my love.”

Clark smiled as his eyes closed, Bruce kissing him tenderly on the forehead.


	23. The Order Of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two very different Households contemplate the question of slavery.

_Slavery affects the freeman as well as the slave. While the slave is dependent on the freeman, the freeman is dependent on the slave. Soon the freeman can’t dream of abolition because slavery is too entwined in his own life._

  


**Dr. Charles Renshaw  
"Psychology Of The Human Race"   
2161 C.E.**

The shriek cut through Ollie as he and Dinah sat up in bed.

“Melody,” said Dinah, and was quickly out of bed, pulling on a robe. Ollie followed as he pulled on pajama bottoms, his heart pounding. 

Melody was sitting up in bed, sobbing and rocking back and forth as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“It’s all right, honey,” Dinah soothed, hugging the child to her. Melody clung to her, crying quietly. Ollie sat on the other side of the bed, stroking her hair.

“Was it the whipping again?” Dinah asked softly. At Melody’s nod, Dinah’s face tightened. “It’s okay. You’re safe now…”

“L…Lord Wayne’s Prize…they were…were whipping him, too.”

“I know.” Dinah continued rocking the girl. “He saved you once and we’re very grateful.” She looked at Ollie, whose expression was grim. “Don’t worry anymore, sweetie. You’ll never be hurt like that again.”

Melody hiccoughed and dragged her hand across her eyes. Ollie handed her a tissue.

Finally they settled Melody back down under the covers, Dinah kissing the top of her head, Ollie patting her shoulder.

Once back in their room, Dinah paced angrily, her filmy peignoir swirling around her.

“It makes my blood boil every time I think of how the Caldwells treated that child.”

Ollie sat on the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Dinah…”

“Ollie, they whipped her and god-knows-what-else! Hell, they nearly killed Clark when he had the audacity to save Melody from a beating!”

“Dinah…” Ollie tried again.

“Ollie, I want to do something!”

“I know.” He stood up and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not easy.”

“Can’t you make a statement?”

Ollie sighed. “We’ve been over this.”

“But…”

Ollie dropped his hands and turned away. “I can’t just come out for abolition, Dinah.” He crossed his arms and turned back to face her. “If I came out in favor and became active in promoting it, I’d have to sell my slaves.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the bedrooms beyond the door. “These people have been with my family my entire life, and some before that. How do you think that Clara would feel serving as cook in another kitchen, or Regan taking care of other horses in another stable, or our sweet Melody somewhere else?” 

He ran a hand through his hair. “You say that Bruce loves Clark and I agree. Do you think that he would ever sell Clark? Or Alfred, the man who probably kept him from going crazy after his parents’ murders, and has been with him his entire life, raising him after that tragedy. And Dick! Do you think he’d part with that sprite?”

Dinah recognized the passion behind her lover’s words and held out her hands palms up. 

“Darling, I know you don’t want to part with your loyal Household…”

Ollie began to pace. “I can’t just declare them free! Remember that case twenty years ago when that damn fool abolitionist declared his slaves free? The Govs proclaimed them runaways, and you know what is done to runaways.” 

Dinah’s stomach knotted. “I know,” she said softly.

“If a clever lawyer and a sympathetic judge hadn’t saved those poor souls, they would have suffered gruesome deaths.” Ollie rubbed his face. “You can’t be all starry-eyed about this. People’s lives are in the balance!”

Dinah approached her agitated lover. “It’s a vicious cycle, love. If no one speaks out, slavery continues.”

Ollie sighed. “I know.” His tense muscles relaxed as Dinah slipped her arms around his waist. “There has to be a way, and we’ll find it.” Dinah rested her head on his shoulder and Ollie put his arms around her and hugged tight.

& & & & & &

Hundreds of miles from Star City, in a darkened study lit only by moonlight, sat the silver-maned patriarch of Greenwood, the estate of the Caldwell clan.

It was quiet, no screams or moans this night as his sons were out and he was more interested in reflection than fun-and-games.

The estate a mile away was on his mind. The so-called Prince of Gotham dwelled there with his arrogance, his prize whore, and the little strumpet he had picked up at the circus. Circus trash was what that boy was, not fit for the well-bred.

But then, what slave was? They were put here on this earth to serve those born free, to be used in any way a Master or Mistress deemed fit.

Edmund smiled as he leaned back in his leather chair. A slave’s best use was for pleasure, and if pain was mixed in, what of it? That just heightened the pleasure. A little pain, a little humiliation, a little blood…it all added up to a wonderful thing.

Chuckling softly, he reminisced about particularly satisfying sessions. The whores he had purchased over the years had given him varying degrees of pleasure, and his sons as well. Some of the sluts had been truly pathetic and quickly put back on the block, while others had been quite talented. When he and his sons were finished with them, there were brothel owners willing to take scarred and damaged slaves, as long as the damage was reparable and the scarring not disfiguring.

Edmund sipped his tea. That pretty little slut who had served him the tea would make a weekend’s entertainment. He would pencil her in.

Their toys were of highest quality, designed for pain and pleasure: pain for the sluts, pleasure for their Masters.

_As it should be._

Edmund watched as a cloud scudded across the moon. He could not understand the foolish abolitionists. Surely they saw that it was the order of things: enslaved and enslavers? How else to expect the darkness of the human heart to use a safety valve? Let the economists prattle on about slavery being the foundation of the economy. What slaves did was allow freemen to let out those dark urges safely. Other freemen were safer if their natural violence was directed at those born to suffer it. Otherwise what savagery would be unleashed? Surely these foolish dreamers could see that?

Edmund shook his head in amazement. People could be so blind. 

The slave-loving abolitionists believed in freeing slaves. Foolish, utopian dreamers.

Fortunately they were on the fringes of society and not taken seriously, or shunned like that pathetic Andrew Carver.

He made a note to step up the harassment at Oakwood.

He looked out over the grounds in the direction of Wayne Manor, where the so-called Prince of Gotham dwelled.

The Prince of Gotham.

He sneered at the honorific. Prince, indeed! The Caldwells had been one of the Founding Families of Gotham along with the Waynes and Braddocks. The Caldwell Building was just as important as the Wayne and Braddock Buildings, and his family were just as big philanthropists as Bruce Wayne, the arrogant prick.

At least young Wayne had the sense to treat his slave as one. He might be overly protective of his pleasure slut and the other whores in his Household, but as far as Edmund knew, he hadn’t committed the sin of loving any of them.

Bruce’s slut was certainly a beauty: strong thighs, flat stomach, an ass begging to be taken, just like that mouth. A whore’s mouth if ever there was one. Edmund’s groin tingled at the thought of that mouth wrapped around his cock. Pity the young Prince didn’t lend his toys.

Oh, what a time he and the boys could have with that delicious whore! Take him in the mouth, in the ass, hear his moans and screams…aah, Paradise.

Yes, he would have to keep an eye on that pretty piece.

Who knew? Someday he might enjoy that exquisite flesh.

Edmund licked his lips as his eyes glittered in the light of the moon.


	24. "SO Cool!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to divulge the Secret to Dick.

_Batman has the coolest gadgets **ever!**_   


  
Iambatnut  
On The  
Batfan Message Board  
22—C.E.

“Dick, we have something to tell you.”

Dick sat on the couch in the library, an expectant look on his face. Bruce sat in his favorite chair, Clark perched on the arm, Alfred standing behind Bruce.

“Dick, I’m not just a businessman and owner of this estate.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I am also…”

“…Batman!”

Surprise reflected on three faces, then Clark and Alfred burst out laughing. Bruce arched an eyebrow as Dick nearly flew off the couch, smiling and bursting with questions.

“So, what gave me away?”

“I _knew_ there was something special about you!” Dick waved his hands excitedly. “There was something about this _house!_ I began to suspect you might be Batman because he is dedicated to Gotham with a fierce intensity, just like you. He has all these cool gadgets, and you need lots of money for that. But that could be a lot of rich guys. But your family has always taken care of Gotham.”

“So you concluded I was Batman?”

“I suspected but I knew for sure when I saw you come out of the clock.”

“When was this?” Bruce asked in surprise.

Dick grinned. “One night a few weeks ago…”

& & & & & &

_Dick couldn’t sleep. Restless, he went downstairs to get a book from the library._

_Moonlight shone through the windows, Dick quiet so he wouldn’t wake everyone up. By the silvery light he read book titles, choosing one, when he heard a noise._

_Dick’s head turned, his eyes widening as the ancient grandfather clock case began to move open. Dick quickly hid behind a chair, heart pounding. He saw Alfred come out first, followed by Clark and Bruce. He caught a glimpse of stone walls and then the clock closed._

_The three men left the library and Dick still stared at the clock, clutching his book._

& & & & & &

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I figured you would tell me if you wanted me to know.”

The adults exchanged looks, then Bruce turned back to Dick with a smile.

“We want you to know now.”

Bruce stood, followed by Clark and Alfred. Dick took Bruce’s outstretched hand and watched avidly as Bruce pressed the side of the clock and it swung open.

Cold air rushed up the stone steps, a slightly musty smell tickling Dick’s nose. Bruce gave his hand a squeeze.

Dick’s senses were on high alert as he carefully made his way down the steps. As they approached the bottom he could hear squeaking.

“Bats!”

His eyes were wide as he saw the creatures fly overhead, their wings rustling in the quiet of the Cave. 

Dick wanted to run around and see everything, the giant penny and dinosaur setting his curiosity afire, but he was better-trained then that. He awaited his Master’s word.

“What would you like to see first?”

Dick nearly jumped with delight. “The dinosaur! The penny!”

Bruce laughed and brought Dick over to the exhibits, Clark and Alfred trailing behind.

Dick absorbed everything, excited and honored to be so trusted with this Very Big Secret.

This was the Batcave! It had all kinds of cool trophies, and the Batmobile! The prettiest car Dick had ever seen in his life: all shiny and sleek and he wished he was old enough to drive it.

“Hey! The Batplane!”

Dick ran over to the hangar and touched the black metal. “Can we go for a ride?”

“Well, Dick…”

“I could wear a mask. I could be your partner! Oh, _please,_ Master!”

“Whoa, there, Tonto. I’m not taking you out on the streets.”

Disappointed, Dick asked, “Can we still go for a ride?”

Bruce ruffled his hair. “We’ll see.”

“Wow, you’ve got cool computers!” 

“They’re the best.”

Bruce began showing Dick everything, Alfred and Clark exchanging amused looks.

Dick loved everything about the sophisticated computers.

“There are completely Gov-free,” Bruce explained. “Even though I’ve bypassed the snooping software on the computers here at the Manor, we can’t use that all the time or they’ll get suspicious. These are the safest ones in the house.”

Dick’s eyes widened at the prospect of absolutely free computer searches. His fingers itched to start surfing, but this was a computer used for important work, not some kid’s plaything. He was lucky that Bruce had given him his own password for the upstairs computers and shown him how to bypass Gov spyware, but he was not to use that bypass unless absolutely necessary. 

“Also, I think it’s time to let you know.” Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “You may call me Bruce within the privacy of our group.” 

Dick’s eyes shone. “Yes, Master…I mean Bruce!”

Bruce laughed and ruffled Dick’s hair.

Dick glanced back at Clark and Alfred and frowned. “Clark, you should sit down.”

Bruce was immediately at his side. “Clark, you should lay down.” His voice softened. “I say this as your lover, not your Master.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled brilliantly. What he had suspected all along was true! He was proud that this nugget of knowledge had been given to him now, too. 

Clark’s smile was small but full of love. “I’ll go upstairs then.”

“Alfred, please continue showing Dick some features. I’ll be back.”

“Yes, Master Bruce.”

Bruce helped Clark up the stairs, an arm around his waist.

Worriedly Dick asked, “Alfred, Clark’s really been sick lately. I…I’ve read about Wertham’s Disease. He…he could…”

Alfred put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Not everyone dies young from this illness, Dick. Some last for years but just suffer bouts of more severe symptoms.”

Dick hoped that Alfred was right. He had lost everyone he had grown up with when his parents died, and now Bruce, Alfred and Clark were his family.

He wasn’t dumb. He understood his legal status. He was the property of Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham. 

Yet, Master Bruce was different. While expecting obedience, he treated everyone in the Household with respect. 

Dick considered himself lucky. Pop Haly had treated his slaves well, allowing families to stay together, even when he could have sold off a family member for profit.

The circus had often been in dire financial straits, struggling to stay solvent. If Pop had been forced to sell his business, everyone would have been sold off, piece-by-piece, either to different circuses or to other owners.

Dick had been willing to do anything to help keep his family together.

& & & & & &

Up in the master bedroom, Bruce stroked Clark’s brow, trying to soothe his headache. He had given Clark aspirin and was happy to try and make his Beloved feel better.

“The light…” Clark winced.

“I’ll close the curtains.”

Bruce quickly shut them, then returned to the bed. “I’m sorry this is such a bad spell.”

Clark half-smiled. “Me, too.” He sighed. “I’ve been lucky, really.”

“How so?” Bruce gently rubbed Clark’s brow.

“Most of my bad spells have never been this bad.”

“I know.” He cupped Clark’s face. “I wish I could do more.”

Clark grasped Bruce’s hand, kissing the palm. “You already do.”

Bruce laughed softly. “Try and get some rest, love.”

“I will.”

Clarks eyes began to close and Bruce kissed his forehead, then left the room.

Out in the hall, he looked back. Clark had just had a very bad spell not so long ago. Was he getting worse? Worried, Bruce went downstairs.

& & & & & &

Bruce clapped Alfred on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Excellently, sir.”

Dick smiled. “This is so cool, Bruce! Did you build this yourself?”

“I did.”

“Wow!”

Bruce laughed at Dick’s starry-eyed expression. “Thanks. Alfred, could you go upstairs, please? I want Clark to have someone within calling distance.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Bruce replaced Alfred in the chair next to Dick as the butler went upstairs.

“How is Clark?”

“Definitely under-the-weather.”

Sadness crossed Dick’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Bruce laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder and squeezed. “But your concern is appreciated.”

Dick smiled and they focused on the computer.

& & & & & &

Bruce picked up the phone and dialed.

 _“Renshaw Corporation.”_ The voice was female and coolly professional.

“Hello, this is Bruce Wayne.” He could almost hear her sit up straighter. “I wish to replenish my supply of the drug to control Wertham’s Disease.”

_“Your number, sir.”_

Bruce looked at the card that Silas Bracken had give him. “Number 618386.”

A pause, then, _“You are not due to re-supply until September, sir.”_

“Yes, but I wish to re-supply now.” His voice was silken but firm.

_“Very well, Mr. Wayne. Please hold.”_

Bruce waited for five minutes, then her voice was back on the line.

_“A delivery will be made to you tomorrow, Mr. Wayne.”_

“Excellent. I’ll transmit the funds to you today.”

_“Thank you, sir.”_

& & & & & &

Clark slowly drifted up from sleep. His headache was getting better but still causing his stomach to be nauseous. He lifted his head and the room spun.

Lowering his head back onto the pillow, he allowed himself to drift, eyes closing, listening to the sounds of the house: the creak of a shutter, the muted sound of the kitchen radio playing music, the crash of waves through the window screen as a light breeze caressed his face, calming him.

He had grown quite addicted to the sound of the ocean. Whether that was from a lost memory or because it was new to him, he would never know.

He heard a light tread in the hall and smiled.

“Clark?”

The question was soft, designed not to awaken him.

“It’s all right, Dick. Come on in.”

Dick quickly entered the room and sat on the bed, small hand checking his brow for fever.

“How are you?”

“Okay.” Clark opened his eyes. A very anxious Dick looked down at him. “What did you think of the Batcave?” 

Dick’s eyes lit up. “So cool!”

Clark chuckled despite everything. “It _is_ the coolest place,” he agreed.

“You work on the computer a lot?”

“Sometimes. I help Bruce research things.”

“Oh, you mean Bat-things.”

Clark laughed again. “Yes.”

“So you’re his partner?”

Clark’s expression clouded slightly. “Of a sort. I can’t be out on the streets with him, as you can see why.”

Dick squeezed his hand. “He needs a partner out there, like the Hawks or Green Arrow and Black Canary.” He bit his lip. “I wish he’d let me be his partner.”

“He doesn’t want to risk you out on the streets.”

Dick gave an exasperated sigh. “Clark, you and I face risks every day as slaves. Bruce can say he understands, but he doesn’t.”

Clark couldn’t argue with that.

He squeezed Dick’s hand.


	25. Not Just A Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce calls a meeting of his Household.

_My most  
Intimate secrets  
Are whispered  
In slave ears,  
Knowing eyes   
Seeing me  
Better than   
My loved ones._

_Though,  
Now that   
I think of it,  
They are   
My loved ones,  
Too._

  


**Javelle  
Of The House   
Of Jorelle   
"Starlight"   
1961 C.E. ******

Bruce finished his report, hitting ‘Send’. Alfred was dusting and Bruce said, “Alfred, will you get Clark and Dick and assemble in the library, please?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Bruce wanted to gather his Household for a very important meeting.

A wry smile crossed his face. The three people most important in his life were all slaves. What did that say about him?

He finished arranging his paperwork, then walked to the library.

Clark and Dick were seated on the couch, Alfred in an overstuffed chair. They looked up expectantly at Bruce’s arrival.

Bruce noted that while Clark was better, he still was too pale. He was going to send him up to bed after this meeting.

“I have a meeting tomorrow at my Cousin Kathy’s house with Martha Kent of the National Abolitionist Society.”

Bruce noted the keen interest in all three faces. He stood relaxed in the center of the room, a tingle of excitement going through him.

“I plan to take a more active role in the Society.” Concern appeared on his slaves’ faces. “I can’t come out and advocate abolition unless I’m prepared to sell any slaves I own as my cousin did.” More concern and touch of fear. “I believe in abolition, but I have _no_ intention of selling you… _ever.”_ Smiles and relief all around.

Dick chirped, “So what are you planning to do?”

“More of my money will go into their abolitionist efforts, though under layers of false identities. Publicly, I want to strategize differently.” 

Understanding dawned in Alfred’s eyes. “Better treatment, sir?”

“Exactly, Alfred.” Bruce smiled at the butler. “I’m already on the hospital committee, and I intend to visit Jim Gordon and strengthen new rules of oversight of the slave pens at Knickerbocker Hall.” Clark smiled slightly.

Bruce took a deep breath. “You are not just my Household. Alfred, if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know if I could have survived the murders of my parents. You have been there since the beginning for me. You are so very important in my life.”

Alfred blinked rapidly, nodding his thanks. Bruce smiled affectionately.

“Clark, you are my Beloved. I’ve found my soulmate in you, and I’ve never been happier.”

Clark blushed prettily. “I love you, too,” he said softly.

Bruce smiled, then his attention turned to Dick.

“Our newest member brings joy and light to this house. I’m sorry tragedy brought you to us, but I hope you’ve found comfort and happiness with us.” He added softly, “You bring joy and light to _me.”_

Dick jumped up off the couch, hugging Bruce tightly. Bruce patted his hair, love shining in his eyes. 

When Dick returned to the couch, Alfred asked, “So your meeting is tomorrow, sir?”

Bruce nodded. “Martha is back on Earth. I wanted to meet with her as well as Kathy.” He took a deep breath. “I apologize to you that I can’t do more right now.”

Looks were exchanged among the three slaves, then Alfred spoke.

“Master Bruce, we understand. As you noted, you would have to sell us if you became a spokesman for the Society. Clark and Dick and I have no wish to be sold.” Clark and Dick nodded. “But advocating for more humane treatment is an important step, and we are proud you are taking it.”

Bruce felt his throat close up. He was a lucky man indeed.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he said quietly.

Bruce could feel love in the room, and felt humbled.

He would protect these three who he literally owned, by law and custom.

He would protect these three whom he loved with all his heart, and who loved him.

Not just a Household.

A Family.


	26. Balance Beam Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick gets a new tutor while Clark recovers.

_Mutual interests  
And good cheer  
Always makes  
Good friendship._

  


**Merry Mete  
"On Friendship"   
1920 C.E. ******

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Gordon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce escorted the bright young girl into the library, Dick waiting patiently by the table. Bruce nodded at Dick, who held the chair for Barbara.

“We appreciate you taking over the tutoring duties, Miss Gordon. My Prize is not feeling well, and he’s my Squire’s usual tutor.”

“Oh, I’m delighted, Mr. Wayne. Of course, Daddy doesn’t publicize it, but I am a good tutor for Masters looking to educate their slaves.”

“Yes, Jim assured me that even at twelve, you are one of the best.”

Barbara laughed. “Well, that’s a dad for you.”

“Oh, I asked around. Discreetly, of course. You’re too modest, Miss Gordon.”

Dick watched the exchange with interest. It was always a good thing to learn more about freemen behavior, but he also wanted to take the measure of this girl.

He really wanted Clark as his tutor. He felt safe with him, not needing to watch every word he said or remember all the protocols necessary in dealing with the unmanacled.

But there was no help for it. Clark was better but still needed a lot of rest.

“I have my gym bag,” Barbara said.

“Yes, Alfred stored it in the guest bedroom so you can change. Richard will show you where everything is.” Bruce smiled at Dick, who nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I’m very excited about using the gymnastic equipment.”

“Richard will be your partner. He’s an expert.”

Interest sparked Barbara’s green eyes. “Wonderful.”

“All right, I’ll leave you to it.” Bruce smiled encouragingly at Dick, who smiled back.

After Bruce left the room, Dick lowered his gaze. Through his lashes he could see Barbara looking over Clark’s texts.

“Richard.” He looked up. “No need to keep your eyes lowered. It makes for a better lesson without all that waiting for permission stuff.” Barbara’s smile was kind, and while Dick still felt uncertain, he also felt a little more relaxed.

Bruce was taking a chance leaving Barbara as the sole freeman in a house full of slaves. If she was cruel or capricious, his slaves were at risk, but no doubt Bruce had been very careful choosing her. 

Besides, anyone willing to tutor slaves probably had a kind heart.

He loved Barbara’s red hair. One of the trick riders in the circus had orange hair, but this was really red.

Gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose as emerald eyes scanned her notes. “Please open your history book to Page 381.”

Dick obeyed, and Barbara began the lesson.

& & & & & &

Dick was pleased with his substitute tutor. Clark would always be best, but he felt really comfortable around Barbara Gordon. He knew enough not to be impertinent or cross the line that separated slave from free, but unless Barbara proved otherwise, she seemed to be one of the good ones. 

He was in the middle of a discussion with her when a voice from the doorway asked, “May I come in?”

Astonished, Dick jumped up. “Cl…! Uh, yes, certainly. All right, Barbara?”

As the free person in the room, Barbara was in charge. “Of course.” She hurried over to Clark with Dick, helping him to the couch.

“Stretch out,” Dick commanded, and Clark obligingly complied with a fond smile.

Warmth spread through Dick as he realized why Clark had come down. If Barbara was giving him a hard time, Clark wanted to know.

Alfred had come in with milk and cookies a half hour ago, doing the same thing, Dick realized. He hid his smile, feeling loved.

Dick Grayson never turned away love.

& & & & & &

“Very good, Richard. I think we can call it a day.” Barbara snapped her book shut. “You’ve got your homework, and tomorrow we’ll work on the computer.”

Dick nodded. He was grateful that Barbara hadn’t made him feel ignorant. Clark and Bruce had assured him that he was advanced despite lack of formal schooling. Another thing to be grateful to his parents for, tutoring him in secret despite the stiff punishment they would have received if discovered, though he doubted that Pop Haly would have cared. 

He set aside his momentary pain at the memory of his parents and smiled as Barbara asked, “Ready for some gymnastics?”

“Always.” Dick went over to Clark, who had fallen asleep. He lightly touched his forehead.

“Is he okay?”

“Low-grade fever, but better than it’s been.”

“I’m sorry to see Lord Wayne’s Prize so ill.”

“Me, too.” The flare-ups worried Dick. Some Wertham’s Disease sufferers lived for years with the proper medicine, but others grew progressively worse, treatment or not. “I think we better let him sleep. He needs it.”

Barbara nodded.

“The gym is this way.”

Barbara was suitably impressed with the set-up. Dick escorted her upstairs to the guest bedroom where Alfred had stored her gym bag. He went to his own room and changed, then waited for Barbara out in the hall.

She emerged in dark-purple tights, long red hair tied back in a ponytail. Dick was wearing his circus practice tights of red, green, and yellow.

Down in the gym he watched her warm up, then start her routine. Impressed, he did his own series of routines on the rings and pommel horse, then waited for his turn at the uneven bars.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Barbara challenged with a smile as she stuck the landing.

Dick grinned and performed a dazzling series of exercises, flipping out to perform his landing.

“Wow.” Barbara sounded impressed.

“Thanks.”

“Let’s see what you can do on the balance beam.”

Eager to perform for a new audience, Dick hopped up on the beam.

The beam was the simplest piece of equipment and yet the most difficult. Balancing and performing somersaults and other tricks on a surface no more than three inches wide was astounding to most people.

Dick was not most people.

He concentrated on his routine, of course, but his sense of balance was perfect.

Some people had sense of direction, some a sense of color or style or taste.

He had balance.

Dick somersaulted backward on the beam, then performed a one-handed handstand. He did a split and then somersaulted forward.

The sound of clapping thrilled him. He jumped off the beam and bowed, Barbara giggling with delight.

“You really are good.”

“Of course,” Dick said breezily. 

Barbara jumped onto the beam, somersaulting and then performing a series of balancing exercises.

Dick watched with a professional eye, and then it was his turn to applaud.

“Wow, you are _very_ good.”

“Thank you.”

Barbara sat on the beam and swung her legs, hopping off.

Applause caused both children’s heads to turn. Clark was standing in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. He was smiling despite looking ready to fall down.

“Cl…uh, you shouldn’t be up,” Dick said as he ran forward.

Clark gently caressed Dick’s hair. “I wanted to see you and Miss Gordon perform.”

Dick briefly hugged Clark, then said, “You should really be in bed. Let me call Alfred and get you upstairs.”

“No need.” Barbara came forward. “I’ll help.”

Clark accepted the children’s assistance, Dick helping him get under the covers. Barbara discreetly looked around the room but paid attention to caring for Clark. Dick liked her even more.

“Thank you, Miss Gordon.” Clark liked her, too. 

“You’re welcome. Please try to rest.”

As they left the bedroom, Barbara asked, “Ready for some more gymnastics, hotshot?”

“You bet!”

The children hurried down the staircase, Clark smiling in his room.


	27. "As Goes The Prince Of Gotham Goes, So Goes Gotham Society"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets with Kathy and Martha to strategize his deeper involvement with the Abolitionist Movement.

_"Find it in your hearts to grant slaves the right of human dignity."_

  


The Moral Case For Abolitionism"   
Lecture given by Martha Clark Kent   
Convention of   
The National Abolitionist Society   
Topeka, Kansas   
June 18, 2246 C.E. ****

“Thanks for hosting this meeting, Cousin.”

“Glad to do it, Cousin.”

Bruce smiled and shook hands with Martha, who was sitting at the solarium table with his cousin Kathy at Maplewood, the Kane estate. Martha was dressed in green, perfectly complementing her red hair. Kathy wore sunny yellow, beaming at Bruce.

He took a seat, setting a pad and stylus down on the table.

“Ladies, I want to take a greater role in the Society.”

Kathy and Martha exchanged pleased looks.

“How so, Cousin?”

“I’d love to openly advocate abolition, but I can’t and won’t sell my slaves.”

“So what do you propose?” Martha asked.

“I want to start educating people.”

“How so?”

“Fashion, m’lady, fashion.”

Puzzled, Martha looked at Kathy, who was grinning in delight.

“I approve,” said Kathy.

“All right, what is this, some family code?” Martha pretended to be miffed, but her curiosity was afire. Bruce Wayne would be a huge catch for the Society, but if he wasn’t going to sell his slaves and begin open advocacy, what was next? 

“First, I want to assure you that not only will my donations continue, but they’ll be increasing.”

Pleased, Martha twirled her stylus. “That’s always good news.”

Bruce grinned. “I thought so.” He steepled his fingers. “As for education, it occurs to me that the NAS does that admirably already, but by its very nature it has to be pedantic to a degree.”

“And you propose…?”

Teeth gleamed. “Education through Society. _My_ Society.”

Martha raised an eyebrow.

Bruce laughed. “As the Prince of Gotham, Gotham Society follows my lead.”

Kathy nodded, excitement in her face. “ ‘As the Prince of Gotham goes, so goes Gotham Society’,” she quoted.

“If I stress humane treatment of slaves and publicize certain things…”

“…it would become the fashionable thing to do.” Light dawned in Martha’s eyes. “Brilliant!”

Kathy tapped the table with a manicured finger. “No stridency, but definite advocacy.”

Bruce nodded. “I’d like to start a campaign: magazine articles, television, my committee work.” He leaned back in his chair. “I was on the Parks Improvement Committee and the issue of restrooms came up. Slaves weren’t allowed to use them! A simple human dignity, and it was denied them.”

“They built separate facilities, didn’t they?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “It would’ve been cheaper just to allow slaves to use the free restrooms, but of course there were objections. But at least slaves don’t have to do their business in the bushes anymore.”

Martha sighed. “I’ve heard horror stories in my years with the NAS, but sometimes it’s the mundane things that get you.” 

Kathy nodded. “Simple human dignity is so difficult for some freemen to allow.”

“That’s because slaves aren’t really human to them.” Martha looked troubled.

“My slaves are human to me,” Bruce said quietly.

“Oh, Bruce, we know,” Kathy assured him. “You don’t have it in your heart to be cruel to anyone, slave or free.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Bruce asked worriedly, looking at Martha. “I keep not just the butler who runs my Household and the child who is my Squire, but the man who is my pleasure slave. He was initially purchased to serve me in bed.”

“And now?” Martha asked.

“He’s much more. My companion and assistant.”

Martha nodded. “So he’s more than just an object to you.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be honest, Bruce. I don’t fully approve of you keeping a sex slave, but you don’t need my approval.

“But I do see how much you care. I would venture to guess that your Prize is not averse to fulfilling his major…duty.”

Bruce blushed as Martha smiled and Kathy grinned delightedly. She watched her cousin, noting how much more relaxed he seemed. She had noticed the change since Thanksgiving.

_Ah, Cuz. Your heart’s in the right place, but you’ll never give up Alfred to fully become one of us. Can’t say that I blame you. The man raised you after Aunt Martha and Uncle Thomas were murdered._

Kathy felt a twinge of regret for selling her own loyal slaves, but she had found good homes for them and was working to eventually free them, so it was worth the sacrifice.

She had to keep telling herself that.

“I’d like to also meet with Jim Gordon and give him more legitimate backing than Batman for better oversight of the slave pens at Knickerbocker Hall.” Bruce leaned back in his chair.

“Batman’s not legitimate enough?” Martha asked in amusement.

“He’s a vigilante. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for a Police Commissioner trying to buck the system."

“But the backing of the Prince of Gotham will do it,” Kathy said in satisfaction.

“Well, I know from Princes,” Martha said. “The Luthors play that role in Metropolis.”

“Both Luthors?”

Martha nodded. “Though Lionel is more like an Emperor, but Lex is definitely the Crown Prince.”

Kathy and Bruce exchanged smiles. She said, “We know Lex. He’s not so bad.”

“I know him, too.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh. Lionel ‘banished’ him to Smallville some years ago to run the plant they own right outside of town. He stayed only a few years but seemed nice enough.”

“What’s his stand on freeing slaves?” 

“We talked about it once. This was during my early involvement with the movement, after…” Martha abruptly stopped. “Well, he’s not someone who’s actively against it, but he wouldn’t object to freeing slaves, either.”

“Well, that’s something.” Kathy nodded her thanks as her maid brought refreshments. Her free staff was just as efficient as her slave staff had been. “Oh, and it’s Abolitionism with a capital ‘A’ now.” 

“Oh?” asked an amused Bruce.

“Yes. A capital letter adds more weight.”

“How shall we start this campaign, Bruce?” Martha asked, smiling at Kathy’s announcement.

“I think I’ll make a call to Perry White. _The Daily Planet’s_ Sunday magazine section is as widely read as _Time, Newsweek_ , or _The Galactic Gazette_. If I express interest in a personal interview, they might be willing to send a reporter.” 

Kathy laughed. “Are you kidding? They’ve been trying to get you for months since you gave _The Gotham Gazette_ that exclusive last year.”

“Yes, last spring.”

Kathy realized that had been long before her cousin’s purchase of his Prize. People were fascinated by why, after years of going solo, the Prince of Gotham had purchased a beautiful pleasure slave to grace his bed.

_A hook for **The Planet?** Oh, yeah._

“Good start,” Martha said. “Let’s plan out your strategy.”

“Excellent,” Bruce said, eagerness almost making Kathy laugh again.

_Oh, Cousin. That Prize of yours must be a helluva lay to get you all excited to preen in front of him._

Amused no end, Kathy joined Bruce and Martha in more strategizing.


	28. The Gentlemanly Thing To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gives an interview to _The Daily Planet._

_"I’m not sure that many of us would enjoy being naked and led around by a chain if we knew that we had no choice in the matter._

  


**"The Moral Case For Abolitionism"  
Lecture given by Martha Clark Kent   
Convention of   
The National Abolitionist Society   
Topeka, Kansas   
June 18, 2246 C.E.**

“Master, may I present Lois Lane of _The Daily Planet.”_

Bruce turned from the library window as Alfred ushered in the star reporter. Dick looked up from studying at the corner table.

Lois’ sharp blue eyes missed nothing from the black turtleneck sweater and charcoal-gray slacks of Bruce to the sun glinting off Dick’s golden slave bracelets.

“Ms. Lane. A delight to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” Alfred bowed and discreetly left the room. “It’s a pleasure to conduct this interview.”

“Have a seat.” Bruce indicated the chair in front of his massive desk. As Lois sat down, Bruce turned to Dick. “Finish your studying upstairs, then go outside for some fresh air.”

Dick nodded, gathered up his books and hurried out.

“So, you educate your child slaves.”

“Slave.”

“Excuse me?”

Bruce walked to the leather chair behind the oak desk and sat down. “One child slave.”

Lois crossed shapely legs, her yellow suit showing off a curvaceous body. “So you believe in educating slaves?”

Bruce smiled. “I don’t like surrounding myself with ignorant people.” He picked up a stylus. “By the way, I’m honored that you’re the one Perry sent to interview me. I didn’t think you were working at _The Planet_ anymore.”

“I’m not, at least not on a regular basis. I’d won a boatload of awards, a Pulitzer or two, and despite my love of ferreting out the story, I had another love.”

“Writing mystery novels. And very well, too.” 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I still do special features for _The Planet.”_

“My Prize is a devoted fan of your novels.” He pointed to a book on his desk. “That’s his copy.”

Lois picked up the book and smiled. “Ah, my latest.” She opened the cover and scribbled inside. Closing it, she replaced the book back on the desk.

Pleased, Bruce said, “He’ll like that.”

“Glad to do it. And speaking of your Prize, people were surprised when you bought a pleasure slave last fall.” 

“Were they?”

“Yes. You’d never had a pleasure slave before. Why now?”

“Well, Ms. Lane, I never say never.”

“So you were attracted to him?”

“Very much so. That is why one purchases a pleasure slave, is it not?”

“True.” Lois tapped her stylus on her notepad. “But it seems as if you are collecting slaves after years of pretty much relying on free help, except for your butler.”

“I don’t think two slaves are a large collection.” Bruce’s voice was amused.

Lois bit back a smart retort. This man was far too clever to trip up. All right, then, the direct approach.

“You’ve never spoken about slavery one way or the other. Does adding your Prize and the boy indicate you have no abolitionist leanings, like your cousin Kathy Kane?”

“It’s a capital ‘A’ now.”

“What?”

“Abolitionism. The movement would appreciate you capitalizing it now.”

“Oh. All right.” Lois scratched out a note. “Your views on slavery?”

“I’m a member of the Gotham Parks Commission. We pushed for restroom access for slaves, and we want stepped-up patrols against slave harassment on the streets.

“I’m also on the City Commission. We’ve been in contact with Commissioner Gordon about better supervision of the slave pens at Knickerbocker Hall.” 

Lois nodded. “I’ve heard that rape…pardon me, _violation of property_...is widespread in slave pens everywhere.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Terrible places. I’ve been to the pens in Metropolis, once before a major auction.” Her noise wrinkled. “They’re packed into the cages, often in their own filth, before they clean them up for sale. But, of course, that’s mild compared to the stories of after-hours. The most attractive slaves are forced to service the guards who treat the pens like their own personal brothel. Hell, even those rare ones classified as virgins have to perform orally even if they’re untouchable below the waist.” A flicker of discomfort and something else… _anger?_ …flashed through Bruce’s eyes. “The guards are _extremely_ well-sated by auction time.”

“Exactly.” Bruce put down his stylus, idly toying with an antique ivory-handled letter opener. “There should be professionalism amongst the guards. Sadism is so…gauche.”

“Gauche?”

“Yes, lack of breeding. How much class does it take to make those under your complete control suffer? Absolute power corrupts absolutely if you don’t have the strength of character to overcome it.”

“So you believe that Masters who abuse their slaves are without character?”

Bruce nodded. “Anyone of low character can beat and humiliate a slave. The true lady or gentleman would refrain from such boorish behavior.”

“What would you say to those who claim freemen have the right to do anything at all to slaves because it’s ordained by divine right, according to the major religions?”

“Well, Ms. Lane, what religions people follow are their own concern, but my concern is lineage and living like a gentleman, not just acting like one.”

Lois uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, radiating sexuality but not in some cheap and tawdry way, but that of a woman confident in her own powers.

Lois had found it to be quite effective during interviews.

“How do you treat your own slaves, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce laid down the letter opener and steepled his fingers. “With consideration.” He smiled charmingly. “I require obedience, as all Masters do, but I’ve found if you treat those who are manacled with a measure of respect, you are rewarded tenfold.”

“How so?”

“Loyalty out of respect rather than fear.” 

“Is that what you feel is proper? Ruling through respect but not fear?”

“It is the way of the gentleman.”

Lois was impressed despite herself. She had a healthy distrust of the rich and privileged, considering most of them parasites. Worse, the Government had co-opted the billionaires, allowing them freedom to amass and increase their great wealth, restricting them to billions instead of trillions and more, but the ultra-rich could indulge their debauched whims without interference.

There were still laws to obey.

There were just less of them for the privileged.

She repressed the urge to address Wayne as ‘Lord’. He was different from the usual corporate sharks. He reminded her somewhat of Lex Luthor, but the aristocratic bloodline went back far more.

“So, in essence, you advocate humane treatment of slaves?”

“I do. It’s just as one treats people of lower social status. Do you ignore people who clean the buildings or serve your food in a restaurant? Of course not. Everyone deserves respect.”

“Even slaves?”

“Even slaves.”

“That’s not a very popular position.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s necessarily so. Many people don’t like barbarism, and treating slaves less well than you would a dog or cat is really just proof of lack of good breeding.”

Lois noticed the return to the ‘class’ theme. It was a clever tactic: the Prince of Gotham’s opinions mattered, and not just in Gotham Society.

“So, your pleasure slave is satisfied with his treatment?”

“I would say that he is.” The smile he graced Lois with was supremely self-satisfied.

Lois almost laughed out loud. The Prince certainly had a healthy ego! She wondered about the man required to spread his legs for him on command.

“So I take it you aren’t one of these Masters who requires their pleasure slaves to be naked at all times?”

Bruce looked startled for a moment, then he smiled sardonically. “While it would be no hardship to keep my Prize naked at all times, I prefer granting him a measure of dignity.”

“But he would strip in front of a roomful of people for you if ordered?”

“Of course.” Bruce leaned forward. “And he would service me in front of everyone, too, if that’s your next question.”

Lois had the good grace to blush. “So he doesn’t kneel at your feet at dinner, or serve as your footstool?”

“Hmm, all interesting ideas, but, no, and I don’t require him to sit with his legs open, either.”

“I’ve been in Households that require at least the pleasure slaves to remain unclothed. They’re on their knees most of the time if not bent over a desk. Some are forced to travel on their knees at all times. I once saw one who was allowed to walk but was led around by a cock chain. Needless to say, he tried to keep up so his Master wouldn’t tug on it.” Lois nearly winced in sympathy. The man sitting across from her kept his face impassive. “Their arms are often bound behind them, leaving them more vulnerable.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve described.” Bruce leaned back in his chair. “Not very dignified.”

“Pretty salacious.”

“My Prize serves me well in the bedroom.”

_I’ll bet he does._

Lois had seen pictures of Lord Wayne’s Prize. For once, she wouldn’t have minded a little less dignity if she could have seen that body unclothed.

“How is your Squire working out?”

Bruce’s face brightened. “Excellently. He’s a bright, happy child.”

“A circus child, correct?”

“Yes, from a very talented family of aerialists.”

“Your Prize reads. What about your Squire?”

Bruce was silent for a moment, then answered, “I don’t like being surrounded by ignorant people, as I said. The boy is being educated.”

“There are people who disapprove of slaves being taught to read and write.”

“They’re probably the same people who lead their naked slaves around by chains on their cocks.”

Lois smiled at the sarcastic disapproval. She wondered, though, if the Lord of the Manor wasn’t averse to bondage games in the bedroom. She dearly wished that she could ask him if he used a pleasure whip, paddle, nipple clamps…

She sighed mentally. Wayne would probably decline to give her details on his bedroom habits. A pity. Talk about a scoop!

She briskly moved away from the topic of kink, no matter how interesting, and asked, “So, what is your position on Abolitionism _(mentally adding the capital ‘A’)?”_

Silence fell over the library.


	29. A Beautiful Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lois learns more about the Wayne Household.

_"Some people claim that slaves can be like family members. Nonsense! Slaves are property. Nothing more."_

  


**Professor Reed Martin  
"The Master/Slave Dynamic"   
2246 C.E.**

The sound of laughter drifted in through the windows. Dick was cartwheeling across the lawn, Alfred and Clark his appreciative audience.

Bruce directed his attention to Lois, who had looked out the window at the cheerful sounds. Her direct question to him about his belief about Abolitionism hung in the air.

“I believe in humane treatment of slaves, Ms. Lane. The Abolitionist Movement is working toward that goal, and I support it.”

Lois decided to drop this line of questioning. Bruce Wayne was not about to come out directly for Abolitionism unless he was willing to sell his slaves.

From the affection in his eyes when he had looked out the window, there would be no sales pending.

“An admirable sentiment, Mr. Wayne,” she mumbled.

“What are your views, Ms. Lane?”

“My views?”

“Yes.”

Wayne seemed genuinely interested, so Lois considered her words carefully.

“As a reporter, I’m not supposed to give opinions, but I’ll make the exception.” Bruce’s smile was charming, at the very least. “I don’t believe human beings…any beings…should enslave others. It’s not pre-ordained by God or the Gods as to who’s born slaves or free; it’s just random chance. We’re the lucky ones who won the birth lottery.” She jerked her head toward the window. “They weren’t.”

Lois saw the expression that flickered across Bruce’s face. Suddenly apologetic, she smiled. “I believe you when you say you treat your slaves well. They’re probably happy, or as happy as anyone can be in their situation. I don’t believe you are a cruel man.”

Lois realized that she honestly believed that, to her surprise. Either Bruce Wayne was a helluva actor or he really did care about his slaves.

“Come meet them.”

Pleasantly surprised, Lois followed Bruce out to the backyard, picking up her book from his desk on the way.

Dick was somersaulting while Clark and Alfred laughed and clapped. Dick landed and bowed with a big grin. When he saw Lois, his smile faded and he ran to stand between Alfred and Clark, eyes cast down.

“Ms. Lane, my Household.”

Lois heard the pride in Bruce’s voice.

“This is the head of the staff and Majordomo of the Manor, Alfred.”

“A pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Lois noted the proper mien and approved.

“This is my Squire, Richard.”

Dick looked up. Lois blinked. The joy and brightness radiating from the child made her smile.

“Hello, Richard.”

“Hello, m’lady.”

“You’re an excellent acrobat.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I come from The Flying Graysons.”

“Ah, that’s right. One of the best trapeze acts in the country, nay, the world.”

Dick beamed. He looked ready to spring into another set of somersaults.

Delighted, Lois looked at Bruce, who nodded. Her fingers cupped his Prize’s chin and lifted.

This slave was certainly worthy of the title. Even partially-Veiled, she noted the strong, muscular body; the glossy dark, hair; and the lush lips.

She wished that she could see his eyes. They were probably stunning.

“Hello.”

“Hello, m’lady.”

_Beautiful voice, too. Quite the Prize._

She dropped her hand away, but not before lightly rubbing his chin.

“I have something for you.” Lois presented the Prize his book, opening it to the page with her autograph. 

His smile lit up the garden.

“Thank you so much, m’lady!”

“You’re very welcome.”

The smile blazed through her.

_Wayne, you’re one lucky man._

It was a beautiful day: sparkling ocean, singing birds, warm sun.

And a beautiful family out enjoying it, with three of the four wearing manacles and collars, owned by the fourth.

And yet Lois could feel their happiness.

She smiled at the shy Prize, at the bright-eyed boy, at the serene English butler.

“It’s lovely out here.”

“Let’s finish up at the table.”

There was a round, white table by the seawall. Lois and Bruce sat down and Bruce asked, “So, what did you think of my Household?”

“A very charming group.”

“Thank you.”

“I consider them lucky to be here, on this estate.”

Bruce smiled.

“Now, a few more questions, Mr. Wayne, about the charity ball you plan on attending in Metropolis…”

& & & & & &

When the interview was finished, Lois stood up and said, “Thank you, Mr. Wayne. A very informative interview. Expect it in _The Daily Planet’s Sunday Magazine."_

“I look forward to it, Ms. Lane. Your work is exemplary. And thank you again for signing my Prize’s book.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce signaled Alfred to escort Lois out. “Oh, and Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better Veil Richard in a few years.”

Bruce looked over at Dick. “Yes, I know.” He looked at Lois. “Thank you for your concern.”

Lois nodded and followed Alfred out.

& & & & & &

“Bruce, did it all go well?”

Bruce smiled at Dick’s inquiry. He ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Yes, it did.”

“Cool! This is your first shot in your N.A.S. campaign!”

“It sure is.” Bruce patted the spot on the picnic table bench next to him. “Up here.” Dick happily hopped up onto the bench, Bruce putting his arm around his shoulders. He suddenly wanted to keep his little boy as a child a little while longer, because Lois was right.

His beautiful little boy was going to attract a hell of a lot of unwanted attention as soon as he reached puberty.

He was going to be stunning.

Dick laughed as a robin hopped up on the table, bright eyes inquisitive.

“I gotta fill the bird feeder again.”

“Yes, you do.” Bruce hugged him. “He and his wife have a home above the kitchen door.” Dick chuckled and the robin flew off into a tree. “Alfred tells me that you take care of all the birds around here. You’re even worried about the bats down in the Cave.”

Dick squirmed a little. “Bats sometimes need help, too.”

“Yes, they do.” Bruce stroked Dick’s hair.

They watched as another robin flew to the nest over the door, settling in.

“Must have eggs.”

“They’ll be babies soon!” Dick was delighted at the prospect.

“Yes.” Bruce patted Dick’s back. “You know that I’m proud of you?”

Dick twisted around to look at Bruce. “Why?”

“You’re just right with people like Ms. Lane. She was very impressed with you.”

“She was?”

“Yes.” Bruce smiled. “You’re a Light to this Family, Dick.”

Dick blushed and ducked his head. “Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce kissed the top of Dick’s head.

Alfred returned and Bruce said, “Ask Clark to come over, Alfred. After you…” he hugged a giggling Dick “…go get changed and go down to the beach. Alfred, please accompany him.”

Alfred nodded while Dick hugged Bruce in joy and scampered off.

Alfred and Clark returned and the butler went inside to change.

“What is it, Bruce?”

Bruce reached up his hand to grasp Clark’s. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Surprised yet delighted, Clark happily obeyed.


	30. The Mysterious Factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is in the mood to play.

_"There’s some debate in the freemen community as to whether or not a pleasure slave ought to be naked at all times or clothed, the latter being ‘The Mysterious Factor’._

**Professor Arlen Cox  
  
"The Art Of The Pleasure Slave"  
  
2246 C.E.**

Up in their bedroom, Bruce kissed Clark, then ordered, “Clothes off.”

Smiling, Clark complied. Bruce watched avidly, making no move to disrobe himself. Clark scattered his clothes on the floor, leaning in for a kiss.

Bruce pulled him close, hands on his hips. The warmth of Clark’s skin was a delight as usual. Clark’s skin was always so golden in the summer.

Bruce rubbed his shoulders, then returned his hands to his hips. His tongue pushed into Clark’s mouth, a faint taste of dark chocolate pleasing him.

When they parted, Clark’s eyes were bright as he started to unbutton Bruce’s shirt. Bruce caught his hands and shook his head.

“I like it this way.”

Clark blushed a little but looked excited. Bruce gently pushed him to his knees, hands on his shoulders. Clark lowered his head, Bruce carding his fingers through silken hair.

“I love you,” Bruce said. “I also want to have totally debauched sex with you.” Clark shivered. “Show off for me.” 

Clark looked up, mischief in his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

Bruce smiled, allowing Clark up, his slave walking away and turning his head around to look over his shoulder, wiggling his buttocks slightly. He turned and stood by the bed, placing his hands on his lower back, arching as he displayed himself.

Bruce watched avidly, excitement skittering along his nerves. A little guilty after his conversation with Lois, he nevertheless wanted very much to see Clark naked and wanton.

His, not just because Clark wore Bruce’s brand, but because he gave his heart freely.

Clark put his knee up on the bed, caressing his thigh, his eyes unfettered by glasses as Bruce partially drew the curtains.

Clark stretched out on the bed, arms flung up over his head, legs spread as his expression was totally wanton. Bruce leaned over him, regal and imperious.

He climbed up on the bed, kneeling between Clark’s legs. He trailed a finger down Clark’s stomach, enjoying his lover’s little shiver. He traced the finger along each inner thigh, then slid over to the nightstand. He took out a length of chain, attacking it to Clark’s manacles and affixing it to small hooks on the headboard. He pulled the chain, stretching Clark’s arms taut, the wordless question answered with a little smile.

Satisfied that Clark was not uncomfortable, Bruce teased his nipples with his fingers, pleased at Clark’s little moans as he shifted his body. His hand moved down to stroke his slave’s stomach, delighted at Clark arching up into his touch.

Bruce rubbed the lean stomach, stroking quivering thighs as he gazed down at Clark.

The contrast between his own fully-clothed self and Clark’s nakedness set his cock to twitching as Clark moaned again. Bruce smiled and began stroking his slave’s cock.

Clark’s hips thrust up. “Please,” he begged, Bruce’s fingers massaging him.

“Mmm,” Bruce purred. “So beautiful.”

Clark smiled as he writhed, Bruce slipping his fingers down to touch between Clark’s cheeks. A jolt went from his slave’s body, sending electricity through Bruce.

Bruce quickly coated his fingers with the lotion he kept in the nightstand, preparing Clark gently as his own cock throbbed. Oh, how he wanted this: Clark vulnerable beneath him, trusting him as he opened his body to him.

Bruce unbuttoned his pants and pushed them and his briefs down, his cock nudging the opening to Clark’s body. Clark’s eyes were hungry for Bruce’s touch, pleasing Bruce deep to his core. Pleasuring a bedslave was one thing, but pleasuring a lover made him truly happy.

He slid in, Clark’s moan of pleasure rushing through him and he began a slow, steady rhythm, Clark writhing in his bonds, the jangle of chains incredibly erotic to Bruce’s ears. Clark gasped, “Faster, please,” and Bruce complied, hitting his lover’s prostate and tearing a scream out of Clark. Shudders of pleasure went through Clark and into Bruce, who thrust in again, Clark moaning, “Yes, yes!” as Bruce picked up the pace.

With one final grunt, Bruce came deep inside Clark, his lover screaming out his joy as he came seconds later.

Clark lay limp in his bonds, chest heaving as a smile curved his lips and his eyes stayed closed. Bruce slid out and cleaned them up, undressing and sliding next to Clark.

For a moment, he stroked Clark’s chest, then unchained him, the cold metal links trailing to the sheets.

Clark curled up around him. “That was…wonderful.” Curiously he asked, “Why afternoon sex? And why still fully-clothed?”

“Oh, Ms. Lane and I were discussing how some Masters kept their slaves unclothed at all times and it just seemed so hot.” He grinned as he ran his hands along Clark’s chest and down his ribs. “Though some say they should remain clothed and call it the ‘Mysterious Factor’.”

Clark’s smile faded as he looked down.

“Clark, why so troubled?” Bruce lifted his chin up.

Clark looked embarrassed…and perhaps a little afraid?

“Is...that what you would like me to do, Master? Remain…unclothed in front of others?”

Bruce felt a fine tremor in Clark’s body. Nerves, and a little bit of fear?

He was also stunned. Had his desire for some kinkiness come across stronger than he had realized?

“Because if you wish it, I’ll…I’ll do my best to fulfill those desires.”

Bruce felt a rush of emotion. He saw the love and uncertainty, but Clark was still willing to allow himself to be humiliated if that was what Bruce wanted.

Gently he carded his fingers through Clark’s glossy hair. “I would never humiliate you.” His heart jumped at the gratitude he saw in shining eyes. “I…it would never be my choice.” He saw the understanding in Clark’s eyes. Sometimes he would have no choice. “Though I wouldn’t mind some… _fun_ …when Alfred and Dick are out.” He winked.

Clark’s smile lit up his face and he hugged Bruce. “I’d like that,” he whispered. “You own my body, legally, but I give it to you…freely.”

Love swelled in Bruce’s heart and he hugged Clark fiercely.

Together, they could play sexy games.

Together.  



	31. A Little Ice Is Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal and Steve stop in Central City to meet Iris’ boyfriend.

_"I don’t like the idea of all these vigilantes running around. They ought to be registered with the Government  
Instead of acting like independent contractors."_

  


**Senator Clyde Hackell, R-TX  
2250 C.E.**

“Barry, darling, I want you to meet a couple of dear friends.”

Barry Allen looked up from his microscope and greeted Iris with a smile. He stood up and shook hands with the two Air Force majors.

“Major Trevor, Major Jordan, glad to meet you.”

“Please, it’s Steve and Hal,” said Steve with a smile.

Barry smiled back. “I want to thank you for escorting Iris back home. She speaks highly of you.”

“It was our pleasure, Mr. Allen.”

“Barry, please.”

Iris was beaming. “Three of my favorite fellas all together.”

Barry laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you gentlemen have business here in Central City?”

“On our way to Metropolis. We thought we’d stop by and meet you,” Hal said.

“I’m honored.” Barry chuckled. “Let me treat you to dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good to me!”

Iris and Barry made plans to pick up Hal and Steve at their hotel. Iris kissed Barry. “See you tonight.”

“Count on it.”

Barry certainly hoped so. He never knew what was going to come up at the last minute.

He touched the ring on his finger.

& & & & & &

 _The Crystal Cave_ was a supper club that harkened back to the days of 20th Century theme clubs. Everything was glittery and icy with sparkling walls, glass tables and chairs, and blue/white crystalline centerpieces on each table.

The waitstaff wore blue/white costumes that were tight and sequined, the women with bare shoulders and low-cut bodices, the men with pants so tight, they looked painted on.

Hal and Steve were impressed.

“Great, um, décor here, Barry,” said Hal.

Barry laughed. “Thought you might enjoy some Central City sights.”

“Oh, I am, I am!”

Iris looked like a gorgeous Ice Queen in her own low-cut blue/white gown, Barry in a three-piece suit and Hal and Steve in dress uniforms.

“The scenery’s great,” Hal enthused. “How’s the food?”

“Top-notch,” said Barry. “The chef specializes in Aldebaran sea bass.”

Hal’s eye lit up. “Excellent!”

Steve laughed. “He won’t even have to look at the menu.”

Hal winked, Barry and Iris exchanging grins.

Their waitress, a perky blond, brought menus, ice-blue with white beaded tassels.

“Ha, ha,” Hal said. “Iced teas; lemon, strawberry or blueberry ices, ice cream sundaes, Jovaran blue bass…”

“There’s the sea bass, Hal.” Iris pointed to the item on the menu.

“All set.” Hal slapped down the menu, beads rattling. 

“Toldja,” Steve said with snicker.

After their orders were taken, Barry produced a section of newspaper.

“Has anyone seen this?”

“What is it?” Iris reached over and plucked it out of his hand. “Ah, the Wayne interview in _The Daily Planet.”_

“Bruce gave an excellent interview,” Steve said.

“’Bruce’?” Barry smirked. “You’re on a first-name basis with the Prince of Gotham?”

“Actually, we are,” Steve said smugly.

Iris laughed at Barry’s expression.

“Sorry,” Barry said, blushing slightly at his shock.

Steve grinned. “No problem. Hal and I met him last fall.”

“This is a pretty interesting interview. Bruce Wayne has never really spoken about slavery before.” Iris scanned the article.

“He doesn’t have a big slave staff, does he?” asked Barry.

“No. He has Alfred, who is his butler, his Prize, and his Squire. His chauffeur is a freeman, and so are all his employees at Wayne Enterprises.” Steve drank his icewater.

“Ah, yes. His Prize. A pleasure slave’s name.”

Steve nodded. “Far as we could tell, Bruce treated all of his slaves well. It doesn’t surprise us that he is pushing for more humane treatment in general.”

“He sounds a little…snobbish…with his talk of mistreatment of slaves as a lack of good breeding. Frankly, I find slave mistreatment to be a lack of principle and character.”

Iris turned the page. “I think he’s got the right idea. His class is highly influential. If the Prince speaks, the rest of the nobility will listen.”

“Come now, dear, you know there’s no royalty in America.” Barry grinned.

Amused looks passed around the table.

“Somebody better tell the Prince that,” Hal said affectionately. “Bruce isn’t one of those rich jerks, Barry. Sure, he can be arrogant due to his bloodline, but not as much as you might think.”

“Good to hear.”

Suddenly, the world shattered as shards flew around from the wall behind their table. Screams pierced the club as people scrambled to avoid the glass.

Hal grabbed Iris’ hand and Steve followed them as they ran to the far end of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, remain calm.” A man in a fur-lined blue parka and snow goggles appeared at the entrance, holding an odd-looking gun, backed by minions in ski clothes and masks.

“Captain Cold!” screamed one woman.

He bowed. “At your service. Now,” he aimed his gun, “I just want your own ice, as in jewels. Cash and plastic, too.”

One of the patrons made a move for his cellphone and the gun blasted a crystalline flash of light.

The man was frozen in a block of ice.

“Come now, quickly, and we can be on our way.”

The henchmen began circulating, grabbing valuables as they pointed their guns.

Suddenly, a _whoosh!_ of air scattered menus, their beads jingling as they hit the floor.

A scarlet-and-gold blur disarmed the robbers. Captain Cold screamed, “Not you again!”

The blur slowed down and the Flash smiled. “That’s right.”

Cold aimed his gun but the Flash smirked as he sidestepped the ray. With a blur of motion, the Scarlet Speedster ran forward and knocked the gun out of Cold’s hand. Cold whipped out a smaller gun and aimed at the customers, but once again, Flash was far too fast for him. 

Flash grabbed a tablecloth and wrapped Cold up. “Call the police!”

“Already done,” said Hal. He and Steve rounded up the henchmen while the Flash saluted them, then sped off.

“Wow, we got to see one of the superheroes in action,” Steve said with a smile.

“Pretty slick guy,” Hal agreed. “You okay, Iris?”

“Peachy. Barry, what happened to you?”

Barry staggered forward from behind an overturned table, a handkerchief pressed to his temple. “I got a head injury from some flying glass.”

“Let me see.” Iris winced. “Nasty.”

Hal smiled at the starry-eyed look in Steve’s eyes. “You’re such a fanboy.”

Steve chuckled. “I suppose I am. Wish we’d seen Batman in Gotham.”

“We’ll have to stop in Star City to see if we can catch a glimpse of the Arrow and Canary.”

“We need more heroes.”

“You’re probably right.”

Steve smiled and squeezed his lover’s hand.


	32. "Stay Strong"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman inspects the slave pens at Knickerbocker Hall the night before the Great Auction.

_"It’s an abomination to jam these people in cages like cattle."_

  


**Bruce Wayne  
Chairman   
Gotham City Improvements Council   
22—C.E.**

The Batman swept through the enormous hall, cape flowing out behind him as he passed the cages filled with humanity. He carefully inspected each one, noting the bottles of fresh water, sanitary facilities, and lack of jamming in the cages.

The lighting was low, not harsh, in order for the slaves to get much-needed rest. The guards wore crisp, clean uniforms, and they were a new crew from the last time Batman had been here.

Jim Gordon had instituted the reforms requested by the City Improvements Council, chaired by Bruce Wayne. The old crew of sadistic guards had been dismissed, and the new storage rules had been implemented. 

Tonight was the night before the Great Auction, Gotham’s annual event. People from all over the country and the world would come into the city for the chance to purchase merchandise of high quality.

It was a four-day holiday, the Auction beginning on the 3rd, and then everyone celebrating the Fourth of July the next day. The Auction continued for two days after that, hundreds of sales being made.

There was always potential for trouble, of course. He wouldn’t put it past the Joker or Penguin or Riddler to try a mega-robbery.

But that was contingency planning. Right now he wanted to make sure that these slaves were well-treated. He hoped they all ended up with good Masters, but for now, he could control their environment.

Chief Guard Aaron Teschler walked up to Batman. He bowed a silvery-haired head. 

“Glad to see you here.”

“Everything seems in order. I’d like to see the private cages, please.”

“Certainly. This way.”

Batman followed the burly man through the hall, curious eyes watching him. One of the women caught his eye and smiled tentatively. He nodded slightly, amazed at her reaction as she faced an uncertain future tomorrow.

He admired slaves’ resiliency more every day.

The private cages were located on the second floor. These slaves were special merchandise slated for private auction. Viewing booths were set up for private sessions, prospective buyers getting an up-close-and-personal look with couches and lubricants provided.

Virgins were not to be touched for obvious reasons, though the old crew had still managed to extract their fun. Batman’s eyes searched for any of these special slaves.

“Are there any virgins in this batch?”

“One.”

“Show me.”

Teschler escorted Batman to a cage in a corner of the room.

Batman saw a beautiful young man, barely legal, curled up naked on the floor of his cage. Blond, silky hair fell into green eyes as Teschler ordered him to look up.

The collar seemed heavy on his neck, porcelain skin pale and smooth. As was the custom, his collar was unadorned. His new Master or Mistress would choose how to brand and decorate him.

“He’s going to be bathed first thing in the morning. He’ll have a good night’s rest, undisturbed.”

“Good.”

Oh, Gods, Clark, you were here, in one of these cages. And the guards were not this crew.

Bruce’s heart ached. He saw the fear and anxiety in this boy’s eyes, his vulnerability for all to see.

Even the Batman was sympathetic.

“Batman?” Teschler asked.

“Yes?”

“Are you interested in a private viewing?”

His first instinct was to say no, then he changed his mind.

“Yes.”

Teschler nodded and opened the cage, pulling the slave out by a length of chain attached to his collar. The boy stumbled out, keeping his eyes downcast as he was led to a private booth. Batman followed, entering the booth when Teschler exited.

Batman entered with a swirl of cape, the blond chained to the ornate red velvet couch. He was on his side, blond hair falling into his closed eyes, a slight tremor running along his limbs.

Batman strode to the couch, a gloved hand grasping the boy’s chin and lifting it to look into clear, leaf-green eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Ja…Jamie, sir.”

A little tremor went through Batman. “How were you raised?”

“In a well-to-do family, sir.”

“Occupations?”

“The Master is a doctor, the Mistress a professor.”

“Names?”

“Dr. and Mrs. Havelock, sir.”

“Excellent.” A thumb ran along Jamie’s chin. “Why are you being sold?”

“I…I was designated a pleasure slave, but the Master and Mistress already have their own.”

“Were you raised with your parents?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Siblings?”

“One.”

Batman drew his hand away. “Have you entertained any prospective buyers?”

The fear grew. “Harrison Caldwell, sir.”

Batman’s mouth twisted.

_What a waste of such beauty._

He pushed the hair out of Jamie’s eyes. “Stay strong.” He abruptly turned and left the booth.

He said to Teschler, “You may return the slave to his cage.”

“Yes, sir.”

Batman paused out in the hall, placing his hand against the wall. He rested his forehead next to his hand.

Jamie.

The name his father’s pleasure slave had borne.

_He even looks like him: blond, green-eyed and damned beautiful._

He was extremely glad the reforms had gone through. This boy would have been a target for sure. His hand curled into a fist.

Had Clark been as frightened yet courageous as that boy?

The thought of what Clark had gone through here the night before Bruce had first seen him turned his stomach.

That newly-legal boy in there…he could be Dick someday.

_No!_

He slammed his fist against the wall.

& & & & & &

Bruce gently pushed the bedroom door open. He quietly went inside, relief sweeping him as he saw a peacefully-sleeping Dick. Moonlight silvered his sweet face, and Bruce lightly touched his hair.

He stayed in the room for a few minutes longer, then kissed the top of his little boy’s head.

He slipped out of the room and into his own, quickly disrobing and climbing into bed with a sleeping Clark.

“Mmm, Bruce?” Clark came half-awake.

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

Clark settled against Bruce as his Master encircled him with his arms.

Bruce knew what he had to do tomorrow, and he also knew that he would do all he could to keep his Family safe.


	33. The Great Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce brings his Household into Gotham as the Great Auction begins.

_Come to the Great Auction!  
Hundreds of Quality Slaves for Sale!  
Music, Face Painting, Fireworks!  
Celebrate the Fourth of July!_

**The Great Auction Brochure  
  
Published by the City of Gotham  
  
22—C.E.**

The crowds were massive, milling about Gotham’s Wayne Park. Some carried picnic baskets while children gamboled and laughed under the watchful eyes of free and slave nannies and free parents.

“Come on,” said one young mother as she tugged her son along. “The first auction’s starting.”

The day was summer-warm but not uncomfortable. Sun shone down on the greenery of the park, a slight breeze blowing through the trees.

A beautiful day as long as you were free, Bruce thought.

Clark and Dick stayed close to him, chain lengths rattling. Bruce had warned them that slave stealers liked to work in big crowds. It was why he had attached the chains to his belt, something he rarely if ever did, but this situation could not be controlled as carefully as a visit to Wayne Enterprises or some other secure venue.

Clark and Dick understood, walking with some freedom as Bruce kept the chains fairly loose, but not too loose.

Bruce was acutely aware of his responsibilities as Master today.

“Are we meeting Alfred later, Master?” Dick asked. 

“Yes. Brendan’s bringing him with a veritable feast.”

Dick beamed and Bruce and Clark laughed. Clark gently smoothed the boy’s hair and kept up with Bruce, who made sure he set a pace that Dick could keep up with.

“Are we…going to the Auction?” Dick asked.

Bruce saw visions of the slaves trotted out before a leering public and said, “No, I just want us to enjoy the fresh air.”

He could feel the relief roll off his companions and knew he had made the right decision.

He was proud of his companions and was honest enough to admit that he was showing them off a little. The elite of Gotham paraded their favorites during the Great Auction, and as one of the leaders of Society, Bruce had decided to take part.

He was amused by the glances thrown his way: admiring, awed, agitated, askance. Lois’ article had come out and it was not only the talk of Gotham but of the country. He knew that many people disagreed with him, but what good was being the Prince of Gotham if he couldn’t ruffle a few feathers?

And do some good.

“I need to stop at one of the shops. We have plenty of time before we meet Alfred.”

Clark and Dick obediently followed him. Bruce gently tugged the chains and his companions were at his side instead of at his heels. He had never felt comfortable with that particular custom. 

The shop he was looking for was on a side street, an old-fashioned Victorian building with an ornate clock above the entrance. The watchmaker that owned this shop was a specialist sought after for his exquisite creations. He had a special watch he wanted to order with very specific instructions.

He frowned as he saw the small sign in the window: NSA.

“What’s that sign, Master?” Clark asked.

Bruce looked at Dick. The boy knew.

“’No Slaves Allowed’,” Bruce said quietly.

“Oh.” Another slap in the face. “Then we wait out here?”

Bruce eyed the hitching post on the sidewalk. Worrying about kidnapping, he would have to chain Clark and Dick to the post.

He saw the look of resignation in Dick’s eyes. There was a bench so they could sit.

Tethered like horses or dogs.

Clark was looking at Bruce a little anxiously. He was probably a tad nervous about him and Dick being left out on the street unprotected but was prepared to do whatever Bruce requested.

“You know, I really don’t have time to stop here today. I’ve got some other stops to make.”

At the look of adoration Dick sent his way, Bruce knew that had made the right choice.

He ruffled Dick’s hair as they walked down the street.

& & & & & &

10:30.

Bruce hurried to get Clark and Dick to the picnic area. He needed to get to Braddock Hall for 11:00.

Alfred was shaking out a tablecloth over the picnic table, Brendan talking to Lex.

“Hey, Lex!”

“Hi, Bruce.” They shook hands. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Well, I knew you and Lionel would be here.”

“He’s promised to be on his best behavior.”

“Good.” When Lionel wasn’t pawing slaves, he could be a charming companion. “Do you have an auction to attend? I have a business meeting but would like you to be here.”

Lex understood. “No place special to go. I have to meet Dad in fifteen minutes but can be back here in half an hour.”

“Good.” Brendan could keep watch but it never hurt to have a second freeman around. “Let’s go.”

They passed through the crowds and Lex said, “Business on a holiday, huh?”

“You know how it is.”

“You’ve got a handsome Household.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“I know.” Bruce’s smile was content.

They reached a spot at the edge of the crowd watching the stage.

“Dad should be along any minute. I’ll try and get back as fast as I can.”

“Thanks.”

Bruce headed off for the imposing Hall. He walked in, remembering the trip he had taken here ten months ago.

So much had changed in his life, and for the better.

He called a number, and waited by the private elevator. The bell chimed and the doors opened, a tall, broad man nodding and saying, “Mr. Bracken is pleased at your last-minute request to attend, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce followed the man into the elevator, passing down a corridor when they disembarked and into the inner sanctum, still richly furnished.

Silas Bracken welcomed him into the auction room.

“How nice to see you again, Mr. Wayne! How are you enjoying your Prize?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Bracken guided Bruce to a chair. “We start in five minutes.” 

“Excellent.”

Bruce looked at the other buyers and saw Edmund and Harrison Caldwell.

Edmund turned and saw him. His eyes glittered.

The auction began.

& & & & & &

Brendan chatted with two of his fellow chauffeurs several yards away from the picnic table. He enjoyed the chance to socialize. Bruce Wayne paid him extremely well, but sometimes that meant being on-call more than he would like.

“So,” said Malcolm, the Breckinhall chauffeur, “how’s it feel to be lone freeman among a bunch of manacles?”

“No big deal. I doubt I’m the only free servant ever in that situation.”

“I don’t know about that,” countered Carlin, the McBride chauffeur. “Most staffs are either all-slave or a generous mix. You’re the only one surrounded by slaves!”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Brendan glanced back at the picnic table.

“It is when people consider free servants little better than slaves.” Malcolm scowled. He curled his hand into a fist. “Pretty humiliating.”

“Who says that?”

“People! Honestly, Bren, don’t you listen? Or are you so isolated out there in the Palace?”

“It’s the Manor, actually,” Brendan said with a wry smile.

“Well, we’re from mixed staffs and we keep the contact to a minimum,” said Carlin. He brushed lank brown hair out of his eyes with a slightly nervous gesture.

Brendan was thankful for his own thick, wavy hair, a point of pride with him. He heard Dick’s laugh. The kid loved to help him fix the fleet of cars Lord Wayne kept, and even volunteered to wash and wax them. He felt a twinge of guilt as Malcolm sneered, “Slaves aren’t really the type of _people_ you want to associate with.” 

“Oh, they’re okay.”

“Too bad Wayne keeps such a short chain on the bedwarmer, eh? He’d make a helluva fringe benefit.”

Brendan frowned. His boss’ Prize had always been courteous and respectful to him. Some pleasure slaves thought themselves above free servants by virtue of their position, but the Prize had never acted that way.

And Alfred had always been considerate, baking him his favorite chocolate chip cookies and making sure his quarters over the garage was comfortable.

“Listen, slaves are okay. Some are jerks, just like freemen, and some are fine. I really don’t think too much of it.” Brendan waved a hand. He smiled. “Say, I thought you’d be hitched by now.”

Malcolm laughed. “I’m workin’ on it…”

The crash of china swung the chauffeurs’ heads around.

Two burly men had swept the place settings off the picnic table. Alfred was outraged, Dick glaring, and the partially-Veiled Prize unreadable.

One of the men kicked Dick’s leg and the boy fell hard to the ground with a whuff! of air, shooting his arm up to protect his face as a fist aimed for him…


	34. Gift Of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protection comes in many forms.

_"Pleasure slaves make wonderful gifts. They offer, in addition to bedroom skills, companionship for a lonely man or woman."_

  


**Professor Arlen Cox  
"The Art Of The Pleasure Slave"   
2246 C.E.**

Bruce watched the parade of slaves come and go, making token bids and thankful the Caldwells had not bought anyone yet.

Then Jamie was brought out.

Beautiful, delicious, virginal… _vulnerable…_

Immediately Edmund put in a bid. Bruce was grateful that Lionel was not here, no doubt at another private auction, as this day was the one for slave-buying and selling above all days.

Bruce waited, and another man put up a bid. Edmund topped it. The man re-bid, but after the next round he dropped out.

Bruce saw the fear in the green eyes looking out from under long blond lashes. He had no doubt that the guards had told him the Caldwell reputation.

Bruce bid.

Edmund smiled slightly while Harrison glared. Edmund re-bid.

The bids flew hard and fast until suddenly, Edmund stopped.

“Sold to Mister Bruce Wayne!” the auctioneer announced. 

Jamie nearly sagged in relief.

Bruce beckoned Silas Bracken over. “Please ready him with clothes and partial Veil.”

Silas nodded, snapping his thick fingers and relaying the orders to an employee who scurried off.

There were two rounds left, and Bruce intended to stay right here until they were finished. He might not ultimately prevent the Caldwells from buying anyone, but they were not going to get one in this session.

The next two rounds passed without incident, and Bruce prepared to leave.

He was stopped by Edmund, who tapped his cane as he approached. “So, Bruce, tired of your pretty piece already?”

“What do you mean, Edmund?”

“Buying another whore. Has your first one bored you?”

“Hardly,” Bruce laughed. “I just liked the look of that boy.”

Edmund’s gray eyes glittered. “Two sluts in the sack causes trouble.”

“Thank you for your concern, Edmund, but things will be fine.”

“You have a taste for virgins.”

“Don’t we all?”

Bruce left the auction room as quickly as possible. He met with Bracken in the anteroom and signed the ownership papers, requesting another set, and receiving the receipt as he handed over the check.

Bruce waited as he balanced a velvet bag of heavy chains. Bracken returned with his new slave.

Jamie was Veiled with dark glasses, his manacles chained together. Bracken handed him the length of chain attached to the manacles.

“Thank you, Mr. Bracken. A pleasure doing business with you.”

Silas beamed. “An honor, Lord Wayne.”

Bruce left with Jamie trailing behind.

Once he left Braddock Hall, he tugged Jamie to his side. He would have unchained him but the large crowds made him nervous.

“M’…M’lord.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Bold, speaking without permission, but he allowed it.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for purchasing me.”

The relief in Jamie’s voice did not surprise Bruce. However, he decided that this young man needed to know his fate.

& & & & & &

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

Brendan ran forward, grabbing the attacker’s arm. The man swore, pushing Brendan back. Dick scrambled off the ground and the Master’s Prize was suddenly at Brendan’s shoulder.

In that instant, Brendan remembered that he could order the Prize to fight as long as it was in his defense. The man was in good shape even beyond the bedroom.

“I don’t think Mr. Wayne would appreciate his slaves being battered.”

The attacker sneered. “You toadying to your stuck-up boss?”

“I am loyal to my boss.”

The man looked at the Prize and grinned. Brendan shifted slightly in protective mode.

Dick was glaring and the man’s partner pointed at him.

“You’re bein’ insolent, kid.” He moved toward Dick.

Brendan heard the Prize’s intake of breath and Alfred’s anger. He gently shoved Dick behind him.

“Hands off.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re on the gardening staff on the Caldwell estate.”

“Yeah, ask the slut there how he knows me and my buddy here.”

The smirk set Brendan’s teeth on edge. “I think you should leave.”

Both men laughed and sauntered away.

Brendan let out a _whoosh!_ of breath. He scowled over at Malcolm and Carlin, who had not lifted a finger to help him.

“Dick, are you all right?”

The Prize was checking the boy out with obvious concern.

“I’m fine.”

Alfred was there, checking Dick’s leg. Satisfied, he clapped a hand on Brendan’s shoulder. “Good job, my boy.”

Dick suddenly hugged him and the Prize smiled at him.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I should have kept a closer watch.” Guilt flamed through Brendan.

“What counts, lad, is that you came through when needed.” Alfred looked at the Prize and Dick. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up before Master Bruce returns.”

Brendan watched the three slaves return to the picnic area. He turned and stalked down to his fellow chauffeurs.

“Thanks for the help.”

Malcolm shrugged. “You seemed to have things under control.”

Brendan’s lip curled. He turned and walked away without a word.

& & & & & &

Lex arrived and was pleased to see everything set out for lunch, Alfred keeping the food in the picnic basket until Bruce returned. 

Lex raised an eyebrow as he saw broken crockery in the paper grocery bag they had brought for trash. “Accident, Alfred?”

The butler responded, “Quite, sir.”

Lex regarded Alfred’s placid expression, nodding. He noticed Brendan several yards away talking to Clark and approached quietly. 

“Were they the two who dragged you to the whipping post?”

Clark nodded. “One of them was the whipmaster.”

Brendan squeezed his shoulder.

“Okay, guys, what’s the story?”

Brendan turned, his hand falling away. “Um, story, sir?”

Lex’s expression was very cool. “Yes, story, Brendan. ‘Fess up.”

Brendan and Clark exchanged looks.

“I’m sorry, sir, there’s no story to tell.”

Lex knew something was up, but for whatever reason, no one wanted to talk. He debated probing further but decided against it. Everything seemed all right now, and if there was any danger, they would have talked.

“Good. I think we can persuade Alfred to let us have a preview of lunch while we wait for Bruce.”

The three men walked back to the picnic table.

& & & & & &

Lex’s eyes widened as he saw Bruce approaching with a slave in tow. Even partially-Veiled, he could tell that he man was gorgeous.

He glanced back at Clark, whose expression was unreadable. Alfred, Dick, and Brendan were surprised.

Lex sauntered over to Bruce, looking at the beautiful slave clothed in simple light-blue shirt, dark-blue pants and sandals. Silky blond hair framed a face with porcelain skin. A good body. Hell, a great body. Bruce knew how to pick ‘em.

“Hey, Bruce. Guess your meeting was productive.”

Bruce’s smile was bright. “I guess so.” His smile grew even brighter. He handed the end of the chain to Lex. “Consider him an early birthday present.”

Stunned, Lex stared at the chain in his hand, then up at Bruce. “Bruce, I…”

“I know you don’t keep pleasure slaves, considering your father’s poaching…but if you don’t want to keep him, I know you’ll find a good home for him.” Bruce whispered in Lex’s ear, “Just get him away from the Caldwells.” A beat. “By the way, he’s a virgin.”

Lex’s pale blue eyes widened slightly and he nodded. “Well,” he said with a smile, “It appears I have a Prize of my own.”

Bruce smiled and Jamie relaxed.

“Your name?” Lex asked.

“Jamie, Master.”

“Hmm, a good name. I’ll think about letting you keep it.”

“Just sign these ownership papers, and he’s all yours.”

Lex carefully wrote his name, excitement skittering along his nerves. He had given up on the idea of pleasure slaves, never able to keep his father from poaching on his property.

Maybe it was time to try again.

He was going to enjoy the unVeiling later.

Lex took the papers and the bag of chains and followed Bruce to the picnic table. A smiling Clark happily accepted Bruce’s hug.

“Well, let us all sit down and eat,” Alfred said.

As they were settling in, Lex directing Jamie to sit on the bench as the slave had begun to sink to his knees, Lionel appeared. Immediately his eyes ravished Jamie, who was tentatively taking a seat.

“My, my, my. I didn’t know you were planning on making a purchase, son.”

“I wasn’t and I didn’t. Bruce gifted me.”

“Bruce?” Lionel smiled at him. “What a generous gift.”

“Thank you, Lionel.” Bruce patted the empty space next to him on the bench. “Have a seat.”

Lex hid his amusement that Lionel was not sitting next to Jamie or Clark.

_Clever, Bruce._

He might not be able to keep Jamie away from his father, but he was going to try.

Lex felt content sitting here at this picnic table with his old friend Bruce, both sets of slaves, and even his father.

The food was excellent, but he expected nothing less from Alfred: chicken, herb potato salad with delicious spices, mixed vegetables, all good and fresh.

“Quite a variety of merchandise this year,” Lionel commented after complimenting Alfred on the chicken.

“Many off-world offerings?” Lex asked.

“Not as many as in past years. Now you know I have a good eye for such things, but I didn’t see anything special.” Lionel’s eyes flicked to Jamie.

“Are you going back after lunch?”

Lionel nodded. “I’ll meet you at the train station at 5:00.”

“Okay.”

After lunch Bruce said to Dick, “Help Alfred clean up and when you get back home, do whatever you like. It’s a holiday, after all.” Dick grinned. “Be ready when it’s time to return here to the park for the fireworks.”

“Yes!” Dick nearly bounced up and down with joy.

Bruce laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Lex, let’s go for a walk.”

“Sure.”

Bruce attached one end of Clark’s chain to his belt. No way was he going to let Clark be in peril with these crowds.

Lex did the same, the two slaves walking behind their Masters. Bruce hoped that Clark could relax Jamie. The young man was understandably jittery.

“Too bad you aren’t staying for the fireworks.”

“I have meetings in Metropolis tomorrow.”

They stopped in front of the watchmaker that Bruce had visited earlier.

“Wow, I hear Mr. Gunter’s a craftsman. I’d like to see what he’s got.” Lex looked at the display window. 

“Sure.”

“Oh.” Lex stopped. “NSA.”

“That’s okay. I’ll stay with our Prizes.”

Lex smiled. “Thanks.” He unhooked the chain from his belt and handed it to Bruce.

“Take your time.”

Bruce led his charges to the bench by the hitching post. The three of them settled onto the bench.

“How are you doing, Jamie?”

“Fine, thank you, m’lord.”

Clark grasped Jamie’s hand and squeezed. The blond looked at him shyly and smiled.

Bruce felt at peace despite the chaos of the day. A light breeze blew, ruffling his hair.

He hoped that he had done the right thing. Jamie would most likely end up in Lionel’s bed, but that was far better than the bed of Edmund or Harrison Caldwell.

He had sensed Lex’s loneliness. Perhaps he was ready again for a companion.

At any rate, Jamie was far better off with Lex, Lionel notwithstanding.

_Lionel has never sent a slave to the hospital, at least._

_Or the morgue._

Jamie was sitting between him and Clark. Bruce took hold of the blond’s other hand.

Lex came out of the watchmaker’s shop and the quartet started walking again.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Bruce asked. 

“I did. I ordered Dad a pocketwatch.”

“Lionel likes fine things.”

Lex glanced back at Jamie. “Yes.” He turned back. “You know, I was accepted onto the Hunt Committee.”

Bruce frowned. “Lex…”

“I know.” Lex waved a hand. “Unpleasant business. But it’s just a steppingstone.”

Comprehension dawned in Bruce’s eyes. “To your real goal: the Kryptonian Control Committee.”

Lex nodded. “Unfortunately, we’re supposed to oversee the other Hunts, too.”

“No subcommittees?”

“I guess if the Hunt Decrees expand, they will. Active Decrees are a small list right now. Some are so old that it’s a wonder they haven’t been taken off the books.”

“You mean like the Roma Decree?”

Lex nodded. “Back in the early 20th Century the Decree against the Roma was initiated because Europeans were complaining they were inveterate thieves, liars, and baby-stealers. All countries had their own Decrees within their own borders but once all nations united under one Government, all the Decrees became worldwide.”

“I thought the Roma were exterminated.” Bruce frowned. “Shouldn’t the Hunt be shut down and the Decree removed?”

Lex sighed. “Apparently enough Roma managed to melt away into the general population, pretending to be different ethnicities.”

“Wouldn’t DNA expose them?”

“That’s the thing. Apparently a little ‘gypsy magic’ was employed.” At Bruce’s quizzical look, Lex continued, “Some kind of concoction, passed down from generation-to-generation, masks the Romany genetic elements and keeps the authorities from finding out their secret.”

“And if they’re discovered?”

“Execution.”

Bruce shuddered. What a nasty business!

“Good luck with this.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

& & & & & &

That evening Bruce welcomed his Family back, and they settled at the picnic table to enjoy the fireworks.

“Lex!” Bruce stood up in surprise.

Lex and Jamie walked over.

“I thought you were going back to Metropolis.”

“Changed my mind,” Lex said with a grin. “Saw Dad off. I’ll try and get a room, maybe through bribery.” He winked.

Bruce grinned. “No need. You’re staying at the Manor.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

The fireworks were magnificent, Bruce sliding his arm around Clark’s shoulders in the dark.


	35. Pain, Resurfaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex gets to know Jamie better, and a shocking revelation affects Dick.

_Old pain  
Lurks shadowed  
Beneath  
A sun-dappled  
Surface,  
Bubbling up  
With new fire._

  


**Alan Brexton  
"My TV Dinner   
Isn’t Swanson   
(And Other Poems)"   
2008 C.E.**

Lex noticed the slight tremble of Jamie’s limbs as they entered the guest room. His slave’s head was bowed. Lex gently removed the dark glasses and lifted his chin.

He drew in his breath sharply. Emerald-green eyes stared back at him.

_Beautiful._

His fingers slid down Jamie’s throat, over the iron collar (he would have to get his brand on that as soon as possible) and down his chest.

_Warm, smooth, so beautiful…_

Lex kissed Jamie on the lips, tasting cloves and spices. He pulled him close, his fingers running through silky blond hair. When Lex pulled back, green eyes were shining.

Lex smiled as he undressed his new slave.

“On the bed,” he whispered. “Stretch out for me.”

Jamie quickly obeyed, Lex slowly disrobing, then he climbed up on the bed and began to lavish kisses on his new slave, starting at his jaw and going all the way down to his groin. Lex felt Jamie’s shivering and took hold of his cock, rubbing and kneading, his slave’s whimpers and moans pleasing him.

“Turn over,” Lex said softly, and saw the flash of nervousness in emerald eyes. He opened the nightstand drawer as Jamie complied, taking out the jar of cream thoughtfully provided, and gently prepared his slave, delighting in the round, smooth globes of his buttocks and the heat between them. He coated his own cock and slowly began to ease in. “Relax,” he crooned, Jamie’s fingers curling into the sheets. He kissed the small of the blond’s back, stroking Jamie’s ass and pushing in further.

Jamie gasped and Lex asked, “Okay?”

“Y…Yes, Master.”

“Turn over.”

Puzzled, Jaime did as ordered and Lex said, “Spread your legs.” He eased in again. He wanted to see his slave’s face when he took his virginity.

He wasn’t disappointed. Jamie looked like an angel trapped in ecstasy. No longer afraid and reveling in the pleasure, his eyes closed and he smiled as Lex began a rhythm. The beauty and vulnerability…and trust…sent waves of passion and excitement through Lex, and he speeded up, hitting Jamie’s prostate.

“Oh!”

Grinning, Lex stroked deeper and harder, Jamie gasping with pleasure, crying out as he orgasmed, spurting over Lex’s belly and thighs as Lex came deep within his slave.

Virgin no longer.

& & & & & &

Breakfast was a jovial affair, Alfred serving up blueberry pancakes and homemade strawberry jam. Bruce was extremely happy to see his old friend Lex in a happy mood.

Jamie sat at the table just as Clark and Dick did, and Alfred took his own seat after making sure everyone was taken care of.

“Master Bruce, will you be going into the city?” Alfred asked.

“Yes, Alfred. I have an appointment with Jim Gordon.”

“Excellent, sir.”

“We’ll ride in with you, Bruce. Can you drop us off downtown? I want to buy clothes for my Prize.”

“Certainly.” Bruce looked at Lex. “Can you take Clark with you? He can help you with the clothes hunt.”

“Be glad to.” 

Bruce turned to Dick. “You’re with me.”

Delighted, Dick ran to get his notebook and stylus.

& & & & & &

Bruce sat in Jim Gordon’s office. The Commissioner was on the phone with the Mayor and Bruce patiently waited.

Out in the squadroom, Dick was charming the police officers and detectives. His eager enthusiasm to learn everything about their jobs delighted them, and they were more than happy to teach the Wayne Squire anything he wanted to know.

Jim hung up the phone. “Sorry about that. When Mayor West wants to talk, I have to listen.”

“No problem, Jim. I understand.”

“So, you’re here from the City Improvements Council.”

Bruce nodded. “Also from the Parks Commission.”

Jim laughed. “You wear many hats, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled. “I do. I love Gotham.”

“I know. The city is very lucky to have you.”

Bruce inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment. “Do you have the reports on Knickerbocker Hall?”

Jim nodded and handed over a file folder containing print-outs. “Batman’s report is in there, too.”

“The Dark Knight?”

“Yes. He inspected things for me personally the night before the Great Auction.”

“An excellent observer.” Bruce looked over all the reports. “Nothing seems amiss.” 

“No incidents reported. The slave dealers don’t like the scrutiny, but the prospective buyers do, and the sellers who put the dealers on commission like the lower percentage of injuries and other damage.”

“Don’t the dealers have to pay for damaged goods?”

“They do, but the lessened value on the block always irked the sellers. They fully back the tighter security.”

“Excellent.” Bruce smiled. “I wanted to compliment you on your daughter’s fine tutoring abilities.”

“Thank you.” Jim beamed with pride. “She’s quite taken with your Squire. Says he’s an extremely bright child.”

“He is.” Bruce beamed with equal pride.

“She said he came to you with reading and writing ability.”

“Yes, which was a good headstart.” Bruce folded his hands in his lap. “Such an inquisitive mind needs stimulation, so further education is in order.” He smiled. “Besides, I don’t like being surrounded by ignorant people.”

Jim knew that Bruce Wayne could be complicated. He could be imperious, arrogant and demanding, as befit his station, but was also generous, kind and benevolent.

He had no doubt that Bruce treated his slaves well.

Jim looked up as a detective entered the office.

“Report on Anthony Zucco, sir.”

“Thank you, Mulroney.”

Jim took the folder and read it quickly. His eyes widened. 

“What is it, Jim?”

Jim wordlessly handed the folder over to Bruce, who read the report.

He felt sick.

& & & & & &

“What do you think?” Lex asked Clark.

Clark looked at Jamie, who modeled the cream-colored V-neck sweater and gray pants.

“I think it’s perfect for him.” 

“I do, too.”

Lex said to the salesman, “Add these to the others.”

The man nodded.

“Oh, and I want to see the black ensemble next.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jamie disappeared into the changing rooms with the salesman.

Lex and Clark settled onto the couch, Lex offering Clark some tea from the silver pot. Clark accepted a cup.

“Thanks for the help, Clark.” Lex kept his voice low so no one would hear Clark’s name.

“You’re very welcome, m’lord.” Clark sipped his tea. “Does Jamie please you, m’lord?”

“Very much.” Lex looked at him with twinkling eyes. “Have you two been comparing notes?”

Clark blushed. “Perhaps.”

Lex laughed, patting Clark’s knee. “You’re a delight, Clark.”

Clark blushed again.

Lex smiled. He drank his tea and asked, “Are you content, Clark?”

“Very much so, m’lord.”

Lex was happy to hear it. Clark was good for his old friend.

“M’lord?”

“Yes?”

“Your father…?”

Lex carefully set down his teacup. “He may take Jamie to bed.” He sighed. “My father is an unstoppable force, Clark. However, he’s no Edmund Caldwell.”

Clark looked relieved. Lex had to agree with him.

He just hoped that Jamie could last the week before Lionel bedded him.

Jamie came out and looked gorgeous in the black outfit.

Lex sighed.

He was in trouble.

& & & & & &

Lex and Jamie went down to the beach. Bruce called Clark and Alfred into the library. Dick had been sent to join Lex and Jamie.

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” Clark took off his dark glasses. “You’ve been so quiet since you came back from the police station.”

Bruce silently handed him a print-out.

Shock appeared on Alfred and Clark’s face. “Bruce…?” Clark asked in shaky voice.

Bruce crossed his arms and began to pace. “According to the investigation on Zucco, he’s been running an extortion racket in addition to drug-running, prostitution, and slave-stealing.

“He attempted to extort protection money from Pop Haly four months ago. Haly told him to go to hell, as he barely had money to keep the circus together.” He swallowed. “The police suspect that he tampered with The Flying Graysons’ rigging that…night.”

“So it wasn’t an accident,” Clark whispered.

“No.” Bruce turned and faced the painting of his parents. “It was murder.”

A strangled cry came from the hall. Startled, they watched as Dick burst into the room, his usually-sunny face contorted with grief and rage.

“My parents were _murdered!”_ His voice shook. “Is the Batman going after him?”

“I’m going to follow this up.”

“I want in.”

“Dick…”

“Train me to be your partner!”

“It’s far too dangerous, Dick.” Bruce reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder.

Dick wrenched away, tears shimmering in his eyes. “It’s dangerous every day as long as I wear _these!”_ Dick’s arm shot up, his hand curled into a fist. The afternoon sun glinted off his golden manacle.

“Dick, I’ll _always_ protect you! I won’t let you do the things that Haly forced you to do…”

Dick’s blue eyes snapped. “What do _you_ know about survival!”

Bruce frowned as he reached for Dick again. Dick pushed his hand away.

“Pop did what he _had_ to do! The circus was struggling and would’ve gone under! We would have been all sold, with no guarantee my family would’ve stayed together! One night per stop gave us enough money for the month.” Dick stepped back from the pity in Bruce’s eyes. “We needed the money badly! Mom and Dad…” His voice choked. “All I did was entertain the customers while they had to get ready to service them!” Eyes blazing, he yelled, “I’d do it again! I’d do _anything_ to stay with my parents! And avenge them, too!”

Dick turned and ran out of the library.

& & & & & &

Darkness began to settle over the estate. Bruce sat at his desk in the study, the lamp at his elbow providing the only illumination.

The French doors opened and a small figure walked in, closing the doors behind him.

“I’m here for my punishment, Master.”

The small voice was shaking but Dick held his ground.

Bruce set down his stylus. “You were insolent.”

“Yes,” Dick whispered.

“I _should_ punish you.”

Dick clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head.

“Do with me what you will, Master.”

Bruce rose from his chair and came around the desk. The small body trembled and he reached out his hand…and drew Dick into a hug.

Startled, Dick was still for a moment, then returned the hug in desperate gratitude.

“Thank you, Master.”

Bruce caressed Dick’s hair, then gently disengaged to look down at his boy.

“I forgive you.” He brushed a lock of hair from Dick’s shimmering blue eyes. “You had just received a huge shock. I understand.”

Dick looked up into Bruce’s eyes and their connection re-asserted itself.

They understood that kind of loss.

A loss caused by murder.

Bruce laid both hands on Dick’s shoulders.

“When Lex returns to Metropolis, we’ll begin your training.”

Dick hugged him again.


	36. Green Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie settles in at Castle Luthor, and assists Lex at an important meeting.

_"Hunts are necessary. There are enemies of our planet who need to be exterminated without question."_

  


**General Elias Stark  
** "Earth News Tonight"  
2246 C.E. 

“Welcome home, Jamie.”

Lex sounded sincere. However, Jamie knew he had to be careful. One thing a slave learned from birth was the precariousness of his situation. Masters could be very capricious indeed.

Castle Luthor was dark and imposing, much like Wayne Manor. It was surrounded by acres of woodland, an entity unto itself.

“We have a similar estate in Smallville.”

“Smallville?” Jamie could not help the amusement in his voice.

Lex chuckled. “Not exactly a bastion of commerce, true, but it’s nice and quiet when I need some downtime.”

“So there have always been Luthors in Smallville?”

Lex shook his head. “Just a handful of years.”

The front door was opened by a butler. “Welcome home, Master Lex.”

Lex nodded. “Hello, Carver.”

“Your father told us to expect a new member of the Household.”

“Yes, I have a new Prize.”

“Very good, sir.”

The chauffeur brought in the luggage and Carver summoned staff members to bring all the suitcases up to Lex’s room. Lex and Jamie followed.

Jamie was impressed by the gleaming foyer and its parquet floor, crystalline chandelier, and suits of armor.

Lex’s room was paneled in dark walnut with a canopied king-size bed, gilt-edged paintings, and a soft, wine-red rug. Jamie had the urge to run his bare toes through that rug.

“Unpack your clothes and meet me down in the library. It’s the third door on the left. Oh, my dresser drawer and closet space is yours to use.”

“Yes, Master.”

Lex left the room and Jamie quickly went about unpacking. Carver entered the room. “I am here to help.”

“Thank you.”

Carver opened the dresser drawers and put in the new shirts. “So, Lord Wayne gifted you to Master Lex.”

Jamie nodded. “I was surprised but pleased.”

“No doubt. The Luthors are a fine family, too.”

“I’ve heard good things about them.”

“Most are true.”

Jamie hung pants in the closet, proud that the quality matched the Master’s.

“Master Lex is the only Master in residence right now.”

Jamie looked at the middle-aged man, relaxing slightly as he nodded.

Lionel Luthor was a problem, but Jamie had resigned himself to it. Serving Lionel Luthor was better than serving Edmund Caldwell.

Yes, he could handle that.

Carver escorted him down to the library and Jamie knocked on the door.

“Come.”

Jamie liked the comfortable ambience of the library: more dark walnut paneling, another wine-red rug, and shelves of classic and antique books. A set of French doors and windows gave the room plenty of light.

He especially liked the windowseat, hoping he could get use out of it. 

Lex was sitting behind a massive oak desk. “Everything settled?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.”

Jamie stood quietly before the desk, clasping his hands behind his back.

Lex leaned back and observed him. “Can you read and write?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Excellent.” Lex steepled his fingers. “I like the idea that Bruce has about his Prize. While your primary duties will be in the bedroom, I’d like to have you serve in other areas as well. Reading and writing will help.” Lex tapped a stylus against the desk. “In fact, I have an important meeting to attend and I need someone with me.” Lex’s gray-blue eyes grew hard. “Someone guaranteed not to talk.”

Jamie knew the penalty for a slave blabbing and nodded vigorously. “I would never betray your confidence, Master.”

“Good, because I don’t like betrayers.”

Jamie swallowed. It was hard to reconcile this cold man with the gentle man who had, frankly, deflowered him. 

Lex rose from the chair and cupped his slave’s chin. Gentleness warmed his eyes and he kissed Jamie, who responded in relief.

& & & & & &

_The Kryptonian gasped and shuddered as the green liquid coated him in mid-air. The blond man grabbed at his throat, convulsing as he began to drop like a stone._

_He hit the ground hard, sickly green body twitching._

& & & & & &

The video stopped.

“It took an hour for this Hunted to die. It was an extremely heavy dose.” General Elias Stark faced the table ringed with eleven men and one woman. “The quarterly tally is impressive, as you’ll notice on your stats sheets.”

Jamie understood why there was such strict security around this committee.

He looked at Lex, whose expression was unreadable. Jamie’s stomach felt nauseous. He scratched some notes on his e-pad, trying to get the image of the dying Kryptonian out of his mind.

“The Kryptonians are still scattered across the Empire, and throughout the Outer Rim.. Naturally they try to settle on yellow sun worlds but can blend in on nearly any humanoid planet. There are no outward physical Kryptonian characteristics, and they resemble our own Earth races.

“There are internal differences, such as blood types, but they employ masking agents to ‘humanize’ their blood.”

“Like the Roma use?” asked an Air Force major.

“Exactly.” Stark’s smile was ghastly. Jamie shivered. “Those filthy Gypsies are sneaky.”

“Aren’t they extinct by now?”

Stark snorted. “They’re too damned deceptive otherwise. They pretend to be something they’re not.”

“I guess being marked for execution might have something to do with it,” Dan Wilfork said dryly.

Stark frowned at him but said, “We have to discuss the merits of lifting the Decree on the Corellian pirates.”

“Now why would we do that?” asked a hawk-faced Army colonel. “Those damned pirates have hijacked our military transports left and right. There’s a reason a Hunt Decree was placed on them.”

Stark shrugged. “The higher-ups must think that execution is too harsh. There are no degrees to a Hunt.”

Wilfork snorted. “I’d say not. A Hunt can only have one end, unless the Government grants a special dispensation.” 

Stark’s eyes grew colder. “Like those deluded fools who wish to experiment on Kryptonians to control them, or at least try and find out how to do it. Which requires live bodies, not corpses.”

Jamie suppressed a shudder. He pitied the Kryptonians either way.

“Enough with them. Let’s go over these statistics.”

The Army colonel, Aaron Breckinridge, sneered. “Stats! They don’t tell the whole story. What about what happened on Cestus III? Our ambassador from the mission to the Collective had a stopover on that outpost. A bounty hunter was on the trail of a Kryptonian and somehow that Hunted got away.”

“Sounds like the bounty hunter’s incompetence to me,” said Wilfork.

“Maybe, but the whole incident was odd.”

“What did Ambassador West say?”

Breckinridge shrugged. “She said she didn’t see anything.”

“She probably didn’t.”

“Probably.”

Jamie wondered how this incident had played out and why were they unconvinced of Ambassador West’s word? 

He noticed Lex’s neutral expression, but there was a glint in his pale blue eyes.

The meeting ended an hour later, and Jamie joined Lex. Out in the corridor he asked, “Was it a satisfactory meeting, Master?”

“Very.” Lex watched Elias Stark and Aaron Breckinridge in deep conversation. “Let’s go to dinner.”


	37. The Education Of A Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick begins his training, and Clark wants to help.

_"Children need discipline **and** care."_

  


**Dr. Alicia Moore  
"Handbook For Parents"  
2063 C.E.**

“That’s right, tuck-and-roll. Now come up and hit hard!”

Bruce’s voice was firm but encouraging as Dick followed his instructions. The boy was on his feet and punching the bag hanging over the mat.

“Good.” Bruce suddenly stepped on the mat and feinted, Dick reacting instantly and ducking, coming up with a punch of his own. Bruce parried and they were in full engagement.

Clark watched from his vantage point on the rowing machine. He didn’t claim to be an expert, but the boy looked very, very good.

And on the trapeze? He was showing _Bruce_ a move or two.

Clark had always wanted Bruce to have a partner out on the streets, but worried over Dick. He was just a boy! Quick, intelligent, and physically capable, but Clark still worried. He loved this bright child who had come into their lives and didn’t want to see him hurt…or worse.

But he could not argue with Dick’s reasoning. As a slave he faced danger every day. Danger as the Batman’s partner would not be all that much more.

Dick laughed as he laid a punch on Bruce. Bruce smiled but continued, Dick dancing away, then made a spin move and kicked.

Clark saw that Dick had caught Bruce by surprise with that move but Bruce countered quickly.

Suddenly Bruce got in a shot and Dick ended up on the mat with a _whuff!_ of air.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bruce said smugly. He reached down and helped Dick up.

“No, you’re not!” Dick grinned as he bounced up.

“You’re right.”

Dick burst into laughter. “What’s next, Bruce?”

“Trapeze.”

Dick’s eyes lit up. He somersaulted backwards and ran to the trapeze and climbed up the pole as quick as the Flash.

Bruce shook his head with a smile. “Let’s join him.”

Clark jumped up from the rowing machine. “Right behind you, Master.”

“That’s a good position to be in.” Bruce winked.

Clark laughed.

They climbed the poke and settled on the platform, Dick already swinging out. Clark admired his grace as Dick swung around and caught the bar, swinging back.

The routine utilized the skills of all three of them, Dick so happy he was nearly flying _without_ a bar.

Clark loved the flying, too. He wished he could practice more frequently but was just glad today was a dizzy-free day.

Today was a very good day.

& & & & & &

“Look carefully at this photograph, Dick. What do you see?”

Dick studied the digital still, Clark looking, too. He was enjoying taking part in the training when he could. Dick made his observations.

“Very good, but the lamp is a key piece. Now…”

After the detective session, Bruce said to Dick, “I want you to get ready for hand-to-hand training.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dick bounced out of his chair and hurried to the gym.

“Bruce.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to take part, too.”

Bruce shook his head. “Yesterday on the trapeze was fine. Today you don’t look well.”

“I feel fine.” At Bruce’s piercing look he amended hastily, “Not for flying, but I can spar.”

“No, Clark.”

Bruce turned to leave. Clark hurried forward and grasped Bruce’s arm. “Please, Bruce, I’m sure I can help.”

Bruce shook off his arm. “I said no!”

“Damnit, Bruce, what reason do you have for banning me? I want to be a part of Dick’s training, too. I…”

Clark winced as a pain sliced through his head. Bruce grabbed his arm.

“Clark!”

“I’m…I’m sorry. You’re probably right. I shouldn’t try and horn in…”

“Sit down.” Bruce escorted Clark to the couch. He sat next to his lover. “Clark, I’m sorry.” Bruce gently stroked the back of his Beloved’s neck. “I’m so used to giving orders that sometimes I forget to consider your feelings.” 

Clark smiled a little. “You expect obedience, and you should.”

“I should still listen.” Bruce’s dark-blue eyes were piercing but gentle. “Training with Dick is important to you, isn’t it?”

Clark nodded. “I want to help.”

Affection shone in Bruce’s eyes. “I think that can be arranged.” He put a hand on Clark’s chest. “As long as you’re well.” 

“I’ll tell you the truth about that.” Clark was so earnest that Bruce smiled.

“So you can spar, but no trapeze?” At Clark’s nod, Bruce made a decision. “All right, come with me.”

A smiling Clark followed Bruce to the gym.


	38. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wayne Household observes a special anniversary.

_"What a difference a year makes!"_

  


**Allura McKenna  
"Looking Back"   
(Album)   
2100 C.E.**

The heat of summer gradually began to turn to the cooler days of autumn, the light of late afternoon soft-edged and golden as the trees began to change.

Bruce looked at the small black box on his desk as he snapped the lid shut. He looked at the date on his desk calendar and smiled.

Alfred entered the room. “The dinner you requested will be ready, sir.”

“Excellent.” Bruce looked at his loyal friend. “Alfred, do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Most certainly, sir.”

Bruce bit his lip. “It’s not insulting?”

Alfred shook his head. “No, sir.”

“So it’s not awkward to celebrate the day I bought him?”

“Master Bruce, Clark is a slave. He will have inevitably met you through sale, not happenstance.”

“Yes, of course, you’re right.”

“Besides, sir, was it not a first night to remember?”

Bruce blushed slightly. “Right as always, Alfred.”

“Dick will assist me in serving the meal, and will eat his own dinner with me afterwards. He is very excited.”

“The little sneak kept making suggestions!”

Alfred chuckled. “Quite so, sir.” He sobered. “Sir, if I may?” Bruce nodded. “The boy’s training seems to be going well. Are you still planning to allow him to pursue Anthony Zucco?”

“Yes.”

Alfred sighed. “I suppose it must be done.”

Bruce said nothing but his eyes spoke his sadness instead.

After Alfred left the room, Bruce rubbed between his eyes. Dick’s training was going well, so well that he would be ready sooner than anticipated.

Bruce was keeping tabs on Tony Zucco’s operation, but the man was as slippery as an eel. He nor the police had any evidence on the mob boss.

He was hopeful of nabbing the man before Dick was ready.

Another part of him _wanted_ Dick to be ready.

Perhaps Dick could get some peace if his parents’ killer was caught.

Bruce closed his eyes, his thoughts turning to Clark. A smile ghosted his lips as he thought of their special day.

It was time.

Bruce rose from his chair and went to the library where Clark was helping Dick with his homework. Dick looked up with a bright smile, a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes.

“Clark.”

“Yes, Bruce?”

“I think you should get dressed for dinner.”

Interest sparked Clark’s eyes. “Yes, I will.” He smiled as he cocked his head. “Any special occasion?”

Bruce grinned. “I’d say so.” He took Clark’s hands and helped him to his feet. “The day we met.”

Clark’s grin matched Bruce’s. “A good day in the end.”

“Very much so,” Bruce said quietly. He leaned forward and kissed Clark. 

The sound of applause made both men grin as they broke apart. Bruce quirked his eyebrow.

“Young man, you need to dress, too, and then go help Alfred.”

“Yes, sir!” Dick saluted and hopped off his chair and dashed out of the room.

“Saucy,” Bruce said as he shook his head.

Clark laughed and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “And you love him dearly.”

Bruce chuckled. “I do.” He drew Clark into an embrace. “As I do you.”

Clark slid his arms around his companion and kissed him.

“Mmm, let’s get ready for dinner so we can get ready for dessert.”

Clark laughed, and he and Bruce walked upstairs hand-in-hand.

& & & & & &

The chandelier glittered in the formal dining room, silverware and mahogany sideboard gleaming. The bone china featured the Wayne crest.

The food was exceptional, of course. The roast beef was tender, the smashed red bliss potatoes and chives savory, the broccoli and asparagus flavorful. The wine was exquisite, one of the better vintages, and Clark smiled as Dick bounced in to clear away the dishes with a happy smile on his face.

Clark was excited by the events of the evening. He knew it should be awkward, celebrating a day when he’d been auctioned off like the roast beef on his plate, but Bruce buying him was incredibly lucky. He shuddered at the thought of Edmund Caldwell buying him. 

Yes, he had been very lucky to have Bruce Wayne as his Master.

And his lover.

Dick came in with Boston cream pie and Clark’s eyes lit up. His favorite!

Well, there was also apple pie, cherry and lemon, too, and strawberry sundaes, and…

Bruce was smiling in fond amusement and Clark blushed. He was a food addict!

“Enjoy, my love.” Bruce put his fork into his cake.

The dessert was delicious, Clark getting himself into the right frame of mind. He wanted to be the best pleasure slave of all tonight, mixed in with romance.

“Mmm,” Bruce said as he ate, his eyes sparkling.

Clark knew exactly what his lover was trying to do. He pretended to ignore him, concentrating on his own slice of cake. Yellow cake, cream that he licked off his lips, chocolate frosting…

“Clark.”

“Yes, Bruce?”

“Happy Anniversary.”

Clark laughed. “Happy Anniversary, Bruce.”

Bruce looked smug but happy.

Clark continued to savor the cake, then his eyebrows rose as Bruce produced the black box. “Wha…?”

“Open it.”

Clark did so eagerly, his eyes widening at the sight of…

“A ring?”

Bruce nodded. “Just as the necklace I gave you indicates your status as my treasured Prize, this ring also says the same thing. It’s to be worn on special occasions. I figured tonight was a special occasion.”

Clark touched the necklace that dangled below his collar. It was a glittering gold chain with a five-pointed star pendant, engraved with the version of the Wayne family crest used on slave jewelry: the stylized letter ‘W’ in the center of a large five-pointed star, surrounded by five other stars set in a circle. He took the ring out, the chandelier light reflecting off the gold band and the multicolored stones arranged in the same star design.

“It’s beautiful, Bruce,” he murmured.

“I wanted to give you a lover’s ring, but…”

Clark saw the regret in Bruce’s eyes and quickly slipped the ring on. “It is.”

He was rewarded by a brilliant smile. 

“I have something for you.” Clark blushed a little as Dick suddenly appeared and handed him a brightly-wrapped present, which Clark gave to Bruce. Intrigued, Bruce unwrapped it and exclaimed delightedly, “This is perfect, Clark!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Bruce eagerly flipped through the book of photographs. Gotham City was the subject and the photographer was one of the best in the country. 

“I read about this, but the book hasn’t been released yet.”

“Yes, well, the Wayne name _does_ have its privileges, even for your pleasure slave.”

Bruce laughed at Clark’s smug look and carefully handed the book to a beaming Dick, who brought it to the library. He planned to give it a long look when he had the time. 

Once they finished dessert, Bruce took Clark’s hand and winked at a grinning Dick while leading Clark up the stairs.

& & & & & &

The moonlight was streaming in just like that night a year ago. Bruce grasped Clark’s hand tightly, reflecting on how much had happened in the past year.

Clark turned, then gently disengaged from Bruce’s hand. He unbuttoned his shirt and before Bruce knew it, was completely naked and on his knees in the traditional position.

“Clark…” Bruce swallowed.

Clark lifted his head, moonlight glinting off his collar and necklace.

“Your Starchild is here to serve you, Master.”

So. That was the way Clark wanted to play it. Bruce smiled and cupped Clark’s chin as the beautiful eyes sparkled up at him. 

He drank in the glorious sight of a nude Clark, wrists crossed behind his back and his legs spread as he knelt.

“Rise,” he said softly.

Clark obeyed, lips curved into a smile. He crawled up onto the bed, offering Bruce a great view.

Bruce undressed and joined him, arms sliding around his lover as he kissed Clark’s shoulderblade. His lips nuzzled the back of Clark’s neck, then butterfly-kissed down his spine to the swell of buttocks, kissing each cheek as Clark turned and smiled at him.

“Mmm, Starchild,” Bruce whispered. He caressed Clark’s thighs. “How lucky am I to have you in my bed?”

“As lucky as I am to _be_ in your bed.”

Bruce chuckled as he opened the nightstand and took out the jar of cream, preparing his cock as he caressed the curvaceous buttocks. Clark relaxed and waited, mischievously looking back at Bruce from under long eyelashes.

“Ready, my love?” Bruce kissed the base of Clark’s spine.

“Yes, my love.”

Bruce eased in, Clark moaning softly as he received his Master and Beloved.

Bruce felt the warmth clench him, welcoming warmth that he knew and loved. He set his rhythm, grasping Clark’s hips, thrusting in-and-out, pleasure tingling along his limbs as he lavished his gaze on the luscious body beneath him. The ring glinted on Clark’s finger as he clutched the bedsheets.

_All mine, and not just as my slave._

And that was what they were celebrating tonight: ownership and lust, possession and love, forever-and-a-day.

And when he came in silver-and-sparkles, fireworks-and-fire, Bruce felt pure happiness.

“I love you, Clark,” he breathed, and Clark laughed softly.

“I love you, too.”

Bruce wrapped himself around Clark, nuzzling his neck.

“Forever,” Bruce whispered.


	39. Special Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthdays should be special.

_"A birthday is a day all your own.  
It’s your special day."_

  


  
Angela Susskind   
"The Book Of Holidays   
And Other Special Occasions"   
1959 C.E.

Red-yellow-green-and-blue balloons bobbed in the breeze, the ocean sparkling on a gorgeous autumn day. The picnic table was covered in a festive paper tablecloth decorated with pictures of birthday cakes. Dick laughed and somersaulted across the lawn to the table, followed by the adults of the Household.

Alfred carried the cake, pink-frosted and with cherries on top. Dick eagerly awaited the cake set before him.

“Nine candles,” Alfred said as he placed red twisty candles on the cake.

Bruce was pleased to see Dick so happy on his birthday. He had feared that the first birthday without his parents would have been a sad one.

Dick was still saddened but his attention had been diverted wit the party itself. Missing his parents was understandable, but Bruce was determined to help lighten that sadness. 

“Got a wish?”

“Yes, I do!” Dick closed his eyes, then blew out the candles.

“So, what was your wish?”

“Ha! You know I can’t tell you if I want it to come true.” Dick winked.

Bruce and Clark laughed while Alfred smiled. Their boy’s bubbly enthusiasm never failed to delight.

As they ate the cake, Dick asked, “Bruce’s birthday is in a couple of days. When do we celebrate yours, Clark?”

Clark looked down at his plate.

“Um, Dick…” said Bruce.

“Oh, I know you’ve got amnesia. You should pick a date and make it your own!”

Clark looked up. “Can I do that, Bruce?”

Bruce smiled at Dick. “Sure. What day would you like, Clark?”

“Well, Dick’s birthday is a few days before yours. Can I choose a few days after yours?”

Dick and Bruce laughed. “You certainly may. Alfred, can you handle three birthday celebrations within a week?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Brendan!” Dick leaped up and ran to hug the chauffeur, who had just appeared.

“Hey, Squirt.” Brendan ruffled Dick’s hair. 

“Have a seat,” Bruce invited.

Brendan laid a gift on the pile of brightly-wrapped presents. Bruce looked on in approval. He was glad that Brendan treated his slaves with respect. Otherwise he would have had to find a new chauffeur.

Brendan enjoyed the festivities, Dick delighting everyone with his own joy. Bruce looked at Clark, who was watching Dick with joy and a little wistfulness.

Bruce was determined that Clark was going to have a wonderful ‘birthday’.

& & & & & &

Clark awoke, Bruce leaning over and kissing him.

“Happy Birthday.”

Excitement bubbled up in Clark’s chest. “Thank you!” 

Bruce smiled as his hand trailed down Clark’s chest and stomach. “You’re very welcome.” He nipped Clark’s ear. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, you know, the meal that breaks your fast.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Dick and I had special requests on our birthday, so you should, too.”

“Oh.” Clark smiled. “I’d like waffles, please, with strawberries and syrup.”

“Mmm, a good choice. I’ll go down and give Alfred the request.”

Clark felt so happy he couldn’t even articulate it. He lay in bed listening to the birds singing outside the bedroom window.

He was incredibly lucky. Bruce was doing all this for him, making him feel special. Alfred and Dick were contributing, too.

How had he gotten so fortunate?

When Bruce returned, Clark was waiting with a smile so dazzling that his lover blinked. Incandescent Clark was always mind-blowing.

“We’d better get showered. Alfred’s already started the waffles.”

Clark slipped out of bed, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Bruce slipped out of his robe and followed Clark into the bathroom.

The shower was sparkling and both men celebrated Clark’s birthday…

& & & & & &

“So what would you like to do today, Clark? I’ve cleared my calendar,” Bruce said as they enjoyed breakfast.

“Oh!” Clark realized he had some choices to make. “I’d like to start in the vegetable garden, then rake some leaves.” He winked at Dick. “All of us.” 

“Oh.” Bruce looked down at his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to change.”

Alfred hid his smile while Dick giggled.

“And after lunch?” Bruce asked.

“I’ll think about it,” Clark said airily as he went upstairs to brush his teeth.

“I’ve created a monster,” Bruce said as he sat back.

This time Alfred joined in Dick’s laughter.

& & & & & &

The warm sun fell on Clark’s face, his body tingling with energy. 

“Look! Up in the sky! Is that a bird?”

Bruce squinted. “No, it’s a plane.”

Clark looked up, shading his eyes. He could see the contrail of smoke from the jet. He loved the color of the sky, its bright, blue shade perfectly framed by golden trees.

Clark looked down at Bruce, who was kneeling in the garden. He was wearing a big, floppy straw hat, faded gardening gloves on his hands. He was pulling out the tomato vines while Dick and Clark were picking off the final tomatoes. Bruce hadn’t gardened in years, but seemed to be enjoying himself. Clark smiled. Seeing his multibillionaire Master down in the dirt was amazing.

Dick was grinning, too, his bright eyes amused. Clark was glad to see it. He knew that Dick had not forgotten the matter of Tony Zucco, but he seemed content to enjoy life in-between grueling training sessions.

A sailboat drifted by, its red-and-white sail a candy cane in the sun. As Bruce dug into the earth he seemed very relaxed, enjoying Dick’s antics.

Clark felt extremely happy. He was the luckiest slave around: a beautiful home, a wonderful family, and the most generous Master in the world.

His birthday…his birthday was a happy day. It was his special day, because he was special, Bruce said. A birthday was a day all your own. 

He felt very special.

& & & & & &

Bruce was an efficient raker. He raked with precision, piling up the brilliant leaves as Clark and Dick were using their rakes with hilarity, and goofing-off. He watched his two special people and was happy to take part in Clark’s birthday wishes.

He couldn’t imagine being so rootless that he couldn’t even remember his birthday. He was so steeped in family that he was a Wayne above all, as his heritage demanded. Sometimes that heritage weighed down on him, but more often it was a comforting presence in his life.

Even Alfred and Dick had roots and histories with memories of parents and childhoods.

Clark was a blank slate, a tabula rasa, a Rosetta stone with no key.

A man like Clark needed family and roots.

Well, he had it here.

He always would.

Clark was laughing as Dick somersaulted across the lawn. Bruce smiled and joined in Clark’s applause.

& & & & & &

Dick was excited to be going to the movies. Clark’s final request of the day was to take in a movie. 

At first Bruce had been reluctant, remembering that he and his parents had gone to see a movie the night they were killed, but he resolutely put that aside. Clark didn’t know that detail about his parents’ deaths, and why shouldn’t he treat them? 

And he would protect them with all he had.

Brendan drove them into town, sharing pizza at a favorite restaurant with the family, then went off to meet a friend while Bruce and his family went to the Bijou Theater.

Movies hadn’t changed much since the dawn of the 20th century as far as their environment. After the cramped nickelodeons of the 19th century, the great theater palaces were built, deteriorated to ugly multiplex boxes, then revived to palaces again.

There was always popcorn, hot dogs, and soda, and more exotic dishes from both on-and-off-planet. Bruce was generous as he insisted they get whatever they want. He loved to lavish gifts on his little family.

Clark was missing his childhood. Bruce wanted to give him a piece of it.

They settled into their seats as the previews started, Dick between him and Clark.

Whatever was in his power to make these two happy, he would give.

& & & & & &

Bruce looked up, smiling as Clark leaned over him. Bruce slid his hands up and down his lover’s arms as he lay comfortably in bed.

“What do you want to do, my love?”

Clark’s eyes sparkled. “Just this.”

He leaned down and kissed Bruce deeply, his body settling over his companion’s.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“For what?”

“For giving me this special day, Bruce.”

Bruce felt happiness spread through him. He trailed a hand down Clark’s face and said, “It’s easy to do with you, my Starchild.”

Clark’s smile was like the sun. He kissed his way down from his lover’s lips all the way down to his groin, teasing his tongue around Bruce’s cock. Bruce shivered, canting his hips forward. Clark smiled, then took Bruce into his mouth.

“This is supposed to be _your_ birthday, Clark,” he gasped.

Clark’s only response was to suck harder.

Both gave and received.


	40. Bright Plumage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Little Bird gets his plumage.

_"There is nothing prettier in Nature than a graceful bird’s bright plumage."_

  


  
Dr. Henry McTavish   
"The Complete Handbook Of Birds"   
1953 C.E.

“It’s time to design a costume, Dick.”

Dick jumped off the balance beam and nodded eagerly. “Let me, Bruce!”

“Very well. Alfred can help you in the actual making. I look forward to what you come up with.”

Dick nodded and ran off to find paper and stylus and start designing.

Bruce slowly clenched and unclenched his fist. He had wanted to give Dick more weeks of training, but he was going to have to accelerate things.

The net was slowly beginning to tighten around Tony Zucco. If Dick was to be part of the collar, he needed to be up and running as the Batman’s partner.

He still had no idea about a name. Well, maybe the costume would help.

Bruce wandered to the backyard, Clark finishing a bag of leaves. He looked up at Bruce with a smile.

Bruce stood close to him, arms folded. “I told Dick to design a costume.”

“Ah.” Clark leaned on his rake. “Isn’t it a little soon?”

“Zucco could be caught soon. Jim’s got a good case building against him.” Bruce stared out at the ocean. “I want Dick in on it.”

Clark nodded. “I understand.” He sighed. “I’m glad you’re going to have a partner, Bruce. I just…worry about him.”

“I know.” Bruce looked at Clark with a small smile. “I do, too.”

“I worry about you, too.”

Bruce gathered Clark into an embrace.

& & & & & &

Dick kept his costume design a secret. He and Alfred were co-conspirators, whispering and laughing together. Bruce was amused, glad to see that Dick was so enthusiastic.

He understood how important it was for Dick to focus on this. His grief was still fresh, even six months old.

The little boy was coping better than he ever had, his natural brightness overcoming his grief, but Bruce knew it was still there. It could never leave him completely, but a crimefighting career would help very much.

& & & & & &

Bruce watched Dick somersault across the lawn, sparkling in the sun. He felt an overwhelming rush of love.

“Hey!” he called.

“Hey!” Dick somersaulted over. He laughed as a cardinal flew over their heads, bright-red in the sun. “I miss our robins.”

Bruce glanced at the abandoned nest over the kitchen door. “They’ll be back in the spring.” He lifted Dick’s chin, incredibly happy at the shining face. “Alfred says you’re ready to show us your costume tonight?”

Dick nodded eagerly. His whole body vibrated with excitement.

Laughing, Bruce pulled him into a hug. Why was it so easy to lavish affection on this child? He kissed the top of Dick’s head.

When they broke apart, Bruce winked at Dick. “Go help Alfred with lunch.”

“Yes, sir!”

Bruce watched Dick go with affection.

He was looking forward to seeing Dick’s costume. He was going to enjoy having a little shadow by his side.

& & & & & &

“It’s, um…bright.”

Dick’s smile grew even brighter. “Exactly!”

He was holding up a gaudy red-green-and-yellow costume.

Bruce and Clark were standing in front of Dick, whose pride was obvious. Alfred stood a little further back, hands clasped behind his back, a slight smile on his face.

The bats squeaked overhead, a gust of air blowing through the Cave. Bruce was…nonplussed. This…costume…was not what he had expected. 

_At all._

“Um, Dick, do you think the colors are…practical?”

“Oh, yes.” Dick ran his hand down the red tunic. “It’s all part of the show.”

“How so?” asked Clark.

“Well, the first rule of the show is distraction. You glitter, you sparkle, you dazzle the audience so they don’t see the trick. I didn’t put sequins on this, but the colors will work. Oh, I did put spangles on the pants.” 

“For the show?” Clark asked, exchanging amused looks with Alfred.

Dick nodded. “See, Bruce? With this, I can go in and razzle-dazzle the crooks, and then you melt out of the shadows and scare them silly.”

Bruce’s eyebrows raised. “Well, maybe…”

“And see? I designed the collar of my cape to hide my slave collar.” Dick held out the yellow cape for Bruce’s inspection. “And the gloves will hide my slave bracelets.”

“Good thinking.”

Bruce was still dubious, however. _**Pixie** boots?_

“Well, I like the colors,” Clark declared. “They fit you,” He smiled at Dick, who smiled back shyly. Clark touched the tunic, laughing. “It’s like a robin’s redbreast.”

Dick’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Robin!” He hugged Clark fiercely. “That’s my name!”

“Robin, eh?” Bruce asked in amusement.

“Yeah, just like our robins! ‘Sides, it’s better than Batboy!”

They all laughed, then Bruce said, “It fits, but, Dick, this costume can’t possibly blend into the shadows.”

Dick grinned. “You’d be surprised.” His smile trembled slightly as he continued, “Mom and Dad…always said…to dazzle the audience, but to melt into the shadows so that the burst into the spotlight would be even greater. Mom…made all our costumes.”

Bruce’s heart nearly broke as he realized how much this costume held associations for Dick of his parents and the circus. He didn’t have the heart to forbid it.

He gave persuasion once last try. 

“You’re too much of a target in this.”

“I move fast, Bruce.”

Bruce sighed. Smart kid.

“All right, we’ll see how it works out.”

Dick’s grin grew more incandescent. “Cool!”

Clark laughed. “You’re going to keep Bruce on his toes, my friend.” He ruffled Dick’s hair, the boy joining in his laughter.

Bruce felt that laughter warm him.

It was time for Robin to make his debut.


	41. Opening Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin makes his debut.

_"The Dark Knight has a new Squire. Robin debuted last night alongside the Batman. Gotham City now has two crimefighters patrolling her streets, for which we are thankful."_

  


**Vicki Vale  
 _"The Gotham Gazette"_  
22—C.E. ******

Wayne Manor buzzed with excitement, unspoken but there. It crackled along the stately corridors and through the quiet rooms in bright laughter and quick movement and nervous smiles. The preparations for baking cookies were laid out on the kitchen, final tune-ups performed in the gym, costumes laid out in the Cave.

An early dinner was eaten, very light, as dusk began to fall. Two hours late when full darkness reigned, the Batcave hummed with activity. Clark was running last-minute checks on the computer for any police bulletins or any signs of criminal activity. Bruce had cameras situated strategically around the city.

Bruce and Dick were in the changing room, Bruce emerging first as he pulled on his gauntlets, cape swirling around him. Alfred came down and said, “You are looking quite terrifying, sir.”

Clark and Bruce exchanged grins.

The door to the changing room opened.

Dick was smiling. _Robin_ was smiling. He wasn’t sequined, though his short pants were spangled.

Robin _glittered._ He _glowed._ He was going to be a shining light in Gotham’s darkness.

In Bruce’s heart.

Clark smiled and stepped forward. He ran his gaze over the bright red tunic with the yellow ‘R’ symbol on the breast. The green spangled shorts matched green shortsleeves, gauntlets, and pixie boots. The yellow silk cape was the brightest of all, the Peter Pan collar hiding his slave collar as Dick had assured them it would.

“You look wonderful,” Clark said with a smile.

Dick beamed. “Thank you, Clark!”

“You look ready,” Bruce said, still dubious about the costume but standing by his promise to try it out.

Dick promptly somersaulted , and even Bruce joined in the laughter.

“You will do fine, Dick.” Alfred said.

“It’s Opening Night!” 

Alfred and Clark grinned.

“Very apt observation, lad.” Alfred clapped the boy on the shoulder and Clark gave Dick a quick hug.

Batman drew his cape around him. “Robin…time to go.”

Dick immediately obeyed, hurrying to Batman’s side. He was all business now.

“Godspeed, sir,” Alfred said.

“Good luck,” Clark said softly.

A ghost of a smile played around Batman’s lips and Robin flashed a smile, then they headed toward the Batmobile, Robin leaping into the passenger seat. With a roar of the engine, they were off.

Alfred put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

Clark smiled slightly.

& & & & & &

Robin watched as the countryside sped by, the skyline of the city coming into view. His stomach did flip-flops but it wasn’t any different from pre-performance jitters under the Big Top. He just had to stay focused.

Batman parked the Batmobile on the outskirts of town and they alighted, soon on the rooftops of the city. Robin felt right at home high above the ground. Leaping between the buildings without a net got his blood singing.

Silence was golden in this case, their movements in-sync won from hours of practice in the gym. While Robin watched for any cue, he was confident in his moves. The wind rushed through his hair, his cape billowing out behind him.

The Batman’s cape was dark and voluminous, blotting out the moon. His movements were like a cat’s, smooth and stealthy.

Could bats move like cats?

Would they meet Catwoman tonight?

Robin kept his excitement restrained. Well, not too much restraint. He flashed a grin in the night. 

Batman suddenly stopped and Robin followed his pointing finger down to the street. Two thugs were walking rapidly, gaining on a man swaying as he walked. The man wore an expensive coat and sang off-key, yelping as a hand was clamped on his shoulder and he was turned around.

“My good man, what…!”

The thugs shouted as a bright figure swooped down, laughing as he kicked one of the men, who staggered back.

“He’s just a kid!” said the other man in astonishment.

“That’s right, mister!” Robin whirled, streaming light behind him as he went on the attack.

“It’s all over, kid!” snarled the first attacker as he drew a gun.

“The Bat!” yelled his partner in fear.

The Dark Knight swooped down, as silent as Robin had been chatty. He disarmed the gunman while Robin shoved his partner to the ground.

The two of them trussed up the criminals with Bat-cuffs.

“What the hell? Who _are_ you?” asked the first man.

“Robin!” 

The thugs gaped as Batman and Robin flew off.

& & & & & &

Up on the rooftops, Robin was grinning and hopping from foot-to-foot. Batman hid a smile for a moment, then said, “Good job.”

Robin squealed with joy and did a backflip. Batman had to laugh this time.

“See? I toldja the razzle-dazzle would work!”

“Yes, it did,” Batman admitted. “We will continue with this routine, but mix it up. Predictability is not good in crimefighting, at least not on the criminals’ end. We should know each other’s moves; they shouldn’t.”

“Yes, sir.”

Batman laid a glove on Robin’s hair. “We still have more to do.”

Robin nodded and followed Batman to the next building.

& & & & & &

Clark tapped the keys, gathering information for Bruce. His Master depended on him to investigate for him. Clark was adept at writing reports, accessing the police reports, compiling criminal profiles.

He shuddered at the thought of the Joker’s profile. The man was completely insane. He worried twice as much whenever Bruce had to go up against him.

Now he would worry three times as much.

He prayed that Bruce and Dick would be safe.

Footsteps sounded down the stone steps, followed by the tantalizing aroma of chocolate chip cookies. Clark smiled as Alfred walked up to the computer with a plate of warm cookies.

“Any word?”

“Batman reported he and Robin stopped a robbery.”

“I assume it went well.”

“It did.” Clark’s relief was obvious. He took a cookie.

“Excellent.” Alfred glanced upstairs. “My second batch is in the oven.”

“This first batch is outstanding.” The police radio squawked.

_“HQ, we’ve got a Bat-collar. Um, the perps claim the Bat’s workin’ with a kid.”_

_“A kid?”_

_“Yeah. They said he was wearin’ a bright red-yellow-and-green costume and called himself Robin!”_

_“Really? Jeez, the Bat and a kid who’s bright? Sounds like an odd combo to me.”_

_“Who cares? The Bat’s good for business. Maybe he just wants company.”_

Clark grinned. “Dick’s made his debut.”

Alfred smiled. “Enjoy the cookies.”

“Mmm, no problem there.”

Alfred shook his head fondly and returned upstairs.

Clark kept the radio on low volume as he worked, the news of Robin spreading like wildfire. Another prevention of a street crime, another report of a bright-garbed boy, more buzz. If a news website picked it up…

An hour later, _The Gotham Gazette’s_ website was trumpeting the new development surrounding Gotham’s Guardian.

Clark was pleased. Dick deserved the notoriety. He had worked so hard.

Clark’s smile faltered. He wished that he could be out there with them, protecting people and doing good work with Bruce and Dick.

He closed his eyes, cursing his condition. If he wasn’t suffering from Wertham’s Disease…

He opened his eyes. There was no use railing against his bad luck. 

It is what it is.

He returned to writing his report, laughing as he checked _The Daily Planet_ website.

  
**BOY WONDER MAKES DEBUT IN GOTHAM!**  


Word has spread fast. Dick would like that nickname. He had a flair for the flashy and dramatic.

_All that circus training! And he’s a natural._

Bruce had been dismayed at the bright colors of Dick’s costume, but Clark had liked the brightness.

_Fits Dick’s personality._

That little boy had brightened all their lives.

_We’re a family now._

A very happy family.

Clark smiled as he ate another cookie. Crimefighting and cookies. A Mission and domesticity.

Clark laughed.

& & & & & &

Alfred came back down, glancing up at the clock.

“They should be back any time now.” Clark rubbed his eyes.

The roar of the Batmobile brought Clark to his feet, and he stood next to Alfred.

When the sleek car stopped, a flash of color was out and speeding toward Clark and Alfred, somersaulting with joy.

“I did it! I did it! My very first patrol!”

Clark and Alfred laughed, hugging Dick as the little boy launched himself into their arms. Clark gently caressed his hair as he looked over the top of Dick’s head to meet Bruce’s eyes.

The white lenses couldn’t fool him. He knew there was pride in those eyes.

As there was pride in Bruce’s voice.

“He did well tonight.”

Dick eagerly smiled as he turned around to face Bruce. A gloved hand reached out to touch Dick on the shoulder.

“I have my partner. We’re officially Batman and Robin.”

The era of the Dynamic Duo had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **End of[Arc The Third (RobinSong Arc)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/365417/chapters/593491)**
> 
> **Next to come: Arc The Fourth (Paradise Arc)**


End file.
